


Wincestiel fanfic collection

by batgirlSwrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha!Sam, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Anal Sex, Fluff and Angst, God!Cas, Guide!Dean, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP, Past Rape/Non-con, Persephone!Dean, Plot What Plot, Porn Without Plot, Seduction, Sentinel!Cas, Sentinel!Sam, Sentinel/Guide, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Sextoys, Threesome, Wincestiel - Freeform, alpha!Castiel, god!sam, omega!dean, twink!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 47,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batgirlSwrite/pseuds/batgirlSwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Formerly known as "Wincestiel drabbles written for Tumblr"</p><p>In the third story, Dean is Persephone, Sam and Cas are the Gods of the Underworld. You know where this is going.</p><p>In the fourth story, underage omega!Dean finds a new home with bonded Alphas Sam and Cas.</p><p>In the fifth story, Sentinels Novak and Wesson finally find their reluctant Guide Dean Smith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seducing Cas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter is a gift for Dick Baggins who loves Wincestiel.

Castiel is standing in the doorway of Dean’s room, clutching the mug of cold coffee, trying to level his breathing. Mere weeks ago it would’ve taken only the brush of a thought to tame his thundering heartbeat, but not anymore. With the last of his grace burned out, he’s entirely at the mercy of his human body. Again.

The noises Sam is producing, his words, their eyes on him, all of it is tumbling through Castiel’s mind as he watches Dean fuck his brother, hands tight on Sam’s hipbones. The movement of Dean’s back, spine and ass while he thrusts into Sam, the slight sheen of sweat over the freckles that cover Dean’s shoulders, the way his hair sticks up stubbornly on the back of his head…

Castiel would be more than content, just watching them for the rest of his life. There is a jolt of something more than lust going through him when he watches them climax, making him feel gratification and need at the same time.

“Get over here.” Dean’s words echo through the air between them, and it takes Castiel a long moment to comprehend them. “I-“

Sam groans very softly and sits up, wearing that impish, dimpled smile Castiel sees so rarely these days. “C’mon, Cas. Come here…”

“I shouldn’t have intruded.” Castiel manages to bring out before Sam can say anything more.

“You didn’t.” Dean replies, the answer making Castiel’s stomach lurch. “We left the door open for a reason.”

“You-” Castiel is at a loss of words. This wouldn’t have happened if he were still an angel, when his mind had a thousand times the capacity of a human brain, but now there’s just not enough aptitude to summarize and filter all the feelings Dean’s revelation brings up adequately.

He settles for: “You want me here?” despite the fact that the question is obviously redundant.

Dean’s lips form into an ever so small smile. “Yeah, Cas. We want you.” His truly beautiful green eyes flash with some kind of mischief when he adds: “Here, your room, dinner table, anywhere you like, angel.”

“Not anymore.” Castiel says automatically.

“It’s a nickname. One that suits you.” Sam says while he moves his shoulders absentmindedly, and Castiel makes an effort to concentrate on an answer instead of the rolling muscles under Sam’s tanned skin.

“I already have a nickname.”

“Kind of not the point here, _Cas_.” The way said nickname rolls off Dean’s tongue tells Castiel that the Hunter is very aware what his voice is doing to him. Dean lets his eyes wander over Castiel’s body, unhurried and wantonly, and suddenly Castiel’s heart is beating in his throat again.

“Think third time’s the charm?” Sam asks amused, sharing a brief glance with Dean and then fixes his own eyes on Castiel. “Cas, put the cup down and move over here.”

His head is strangely void of thoughts suddenly, and Castiel does as he’s told, slowly approaching Dean’s bed, coming to stand a foot away from it. ‘Out of his depth’, that’s the expression accurately describing his current situation, he thinks in the back of his mind.

Dean stands up, bare-chested, messy boxers and open jeans very low on his hips, and pulls Castiel into a lazy, warm, insatiable kiss, his wet lips soft and swollen against Castiel’s dry ones. Castiel tilts his head instinctively and Dean buries one hand in his hair, pulling at it slightly while with the other hand, he makes some kind of beckoning motion Castiel only catches out of the corner of his eye.

Sam moves behind him, standing up, completely unbothered by his nakedness when he leans down and gently bites Castiel’s earlobe. “We’ve been wanting to do that for so long, Cas.” Sam’s breath is hot on the side of Castiel’s neck, and when he traces Castiel’s rapid pulse with his tongue, he can’t suppress the soft whimper.

The next moment, both Sam and Dean’s hands are under his t-shirt, as if it were vital to touch every inch of Castiel’s skin. Dean only breaks the kiss to tear the thin fabric up, and Castiel obediently lifts his arms without thinking about it.

“Fuck, Cas, you taste so fucking good.” Dean mouths the words on, against, into his skin, licking and nibbling down Castiel’s collarbones, sternum, nipples, and all Castiel can do in return is gasp and bury his shaking hands in Dean’s hair, which is almost surreally soft.

“That’s right, angel. Trust us and enjoy it…” What Dean is doing to his nipples, Sam is doing to the back of his neck, not quite as gently, teeth scraping over the hypersensitive skin. Sam’s large, almost burning warm hands settle on Castiel’s hips firmly, pulling all three of them backwards onto the bed, and suddenly Castiel finds himself lying on the mattress, eyes wide and unable to catch his breath.

“Looking good, angel.” Dean says, something darker to his teasing as he devours the picture of Castiel pinned to the bed by Sam. He smirks then, and chuckles at Castiel’s sharp intake of air when he palms the bulge in his jeans. He lets his hand stroke over the denim a few times, and the violent need that blazes through Castiel’s body from the touch is frantic, bordering on torturous.

“Dean!” Castiel groans the word lowly, more reverent than any prayer, and it seems his voice is not without effect either, since Dean’s next action is hastily unzipping Castiel’s jeans and pulling them from his hips together with his boxer briefs.

Sam chuckles and pinches one of Castiel’s nipples, and then lets his fingers trail down his stomach, following the line of soft hair down to the base of Castiel’s erect cock. “Hmm. Think you can say my name like that, Cas?”

His hand wraps around the shaft of Castiel’s cock, thumb stroking firmly over the slit on the head, smearing the leaking drops of precome around the crown. The noise Castiel makes is the exact opposite of articulated, and Sam tuts in mock disappointment. “No? C’mon, angel, that easy to distract you?”

He repeats the movement of his thumb and tugs gently, and Castiel manages to rasp: “Sam!”, half exclamation and half plea.

“Always so eager to please, Cas.” Dean praises, letting his hands roam Castiel’s thighs, exchanges a smirk with Sam and then, when Sam lets go of Castiel’s cock, Dean takes him into his mouth, swallowing him down in one fluid motion. It’s simple, compared to Sam’s length Cas is pretty easy to deepthroat, but the noise Cas makes is completely delicious.

Dean pins his hips down mercilessly, allowing him no movement, and Sam catches Castiel’s hands and kisses him firmly, catching the delirious moans their angel is making and tongue-fucking him into oblivion. Castiel is shaking underneath them, shivers running up his spine, and just as the muscles of his hips begin to stutter, Dean lets go of him and grabs the base of his cock, pressing firmly just on this side of painful. Castiel’s groan in return is more animalistic frustration than mere disappointment.

“Patience, angel.” Dean grins, crawls back up to him and kisses his way up Castiel’s neck, pausing to suck a bright red mark into the hollow of his throat. Sam pulls back slightly and gives Castiel’s hands free, instead burying one hand in Cas’ black, messy hair and stroking Dean’s broad back with the other.

“What do you want, Cas?” Sam mumbles the offer softly, making sure to meet Castiel’s wide open eyes. The ex-angel’s pupils are blown wide, only a small ring of deep blue remaining, and his pink lips are quivering with too many unsaid words.

He whimpers softly when Dean licks over the mark he just created, and Sam raises one eyebrow at his smug brother.

“Just a little souvenir.” Dean explains, and Castiel has a sudden realization.

“Oh.” he frowns slightly and swallows, telling himself insistently that he has no right to disappointment. “I see…”

“What do you see, Cas?” Sam asks, because after knowing him for years, he’s developed a sixth sense for misunderstandings.

“I just realized that you mean for this to be a one night stand.” The expression sounds strange on Cas tongue, like he had to look it up on urban dictionary- considering, not that unlikely of an option.

“The fuck, man?” Dean snorts softly, and just because he can, pinches Cas’ nipple, making him gasp very sweetly.

“Not a one night stand. Unless you want it to be.” Sam clarifies. “Consider this your permanent invitation into our bed. As for the mark…” He tilts his head, baring his own neck and flipping his hair back to reveal a similar hickey on the side of his throat. “Dean gets possessive.”

“Fair warning.” Dean grins, regarding the unashamed lust that flashes in Cas’ eyes, and then pulls Sam in for a long, messy kiss, licking and biting and moaning extra pretty. Putting on a show works, because Cas starts squirming, but before he can make any attempts on sitting up, they pounce on him, tag teaming him with kisses on the mouth and smothering the rest of his face and neck with playful butterfly touches and nibbles.

“Sam, Dean, I-” Castiel breaks of when Sam finds that special sensitive place below his ear, but to his mixed relief and disappointment they pull back, watching him expectantly.

“If- are you- do you still want to know what I want?”

“Course. You can always tell us what you want.” Dean replies, winking mischievously, and Castiel gets the implication that he might not always get it. It makes him swallow heavily when he speaks again:

“I would like to climax soon. I don’t think this body is built to withstand this tension for an overlong amount of time…”

“How would you like to climax, then?” Sam asks, for all the gentleness in his voice looking rather like a cat that found a lame canary bathing in cream.

“How-” Castiel hesitates, then takes a breath and hopes that he won’t regret saying this. “I think it would be wise to leave that to you. I’m not very proficient.”

“Seriously, dude?” Dean chuckles softly. “What about you and that reaper chick?” His eyes are gleaming with dark possessiveness.

“It did not take very long, and the mechanics were rather uncomplicat-hnng” Suddenly Dean’s hand is on his cock and Castiel can’t help jerking his hips into Dean’s grip, all the arousal back with just one touch.

“No foreplay?” Sam asks, as if he were talking about the weather. “Did you even kiss?”

“Three or four times.” Castiel manages to answer through his teeth, trying to keep a clear thought. “Dean, please!”

“Doesn’t sound very memorable.” Sam remarks casually and lets his fingertips trace down Castiel’s jaw, over his rapidly beating pulse, throat, sternum, down his abdomen. And then his hand joins Dean’s, both of them sheathing Castiel’s cock together, working in tandem seamlessly intuitive.

“I want to fuck you, Cas.” Sam whispers into his ear. “Want to stretch that virgin ass of yours and make you scream…” They speed up their movements, jerking him together and Dean reaches down, gently cupping and massaging Cas’ balls, fingertips brushing over his rim while Sam continues talking: “And you’re gonna fuck Dean, make him writhe, won’t you, Cas? Pin him down and fuck him hard, every of my thrusts going through you into him…”

That does it, makes Castiel’s world white out with pleasure, ripping the ecstasy out of his nerves like lightening. Everything within him contracts, pulses, he can feel his cock spurting the thick white liquid out, and a small eternity later when he remembers how to breathe, the aftershocks are still jerking through him, rhythmical little milliseconds of bliss shaking him.

“Wow Cas, you should invest in a little more me-time.” Dean jokes, and Castiel follows his eyes down to the relatively big mess he’s made. “Then again…” Dean lifts his hand, which is full of Cas’ come, to his lips and licks. “…could just let us take care of it.”

Castiel can’t tear his eyes off the picture, Dean licking his hand completely clean, and then Dean leans down to clean up Castiel’s soft cock with long, hard licks, and it shouldn’t be possible to feel even a twinge of arousal so soon after climaxing, but he does.

“Turn around, Cas.” Sam nudges him gently and Castiel rolls over onto his stomach, feeling utterly boneless. Dean uses the opportunity to attack the back of his neck and his shoulders, creating more marks, working his tongue against the skin he sucks on. Sam in turn strokes down Castiel’s back, making a pleased noise at finding him completely relaxed. He cups Castiel’s ass cheeks, kneading them gently before he lets one finger slowly drift into the crack, catching on Castiel’s rim as he drags it up and down with light pressure.

Castiel feels Sam’s weight shift slightly as he leans over to the nightstand, and a moment later, cool fingers touch his entrance, the tip of one ever so gently nudging his way inside.

“That’s right angel, relax…” Sam’s voice has a soothing, praising tone, his other hand stroking the loose muscles of Castiel’s back while he slowly pushes his finger deeper into Castiel. Castiel moans softly. The intrusion feels strange, but not painful, and the caresses Dean and Sam are still showering him with are more than sufficient in tipping the scale towards overall pleasure. Sam starts moving his finger around, exploring Castiel’s velvety insides, and when he’s in knuckle deep, he wiggles around in a way that makes Cas gasp and arch his back, clenching slightly around him.

“Found the sweet spot.” Dean laughs softly and reaches under Cas to play with his nipples. With Sam’s assistance, Castiel manages to bring his knees under him and spread them, allowing both Sam and Dean easier access, and Dean rewards him with a gentle nibble on his ear. “Want more of that, angel?”

“Yes, please!” Castiel’s answer is enough even though it’s half muffled into the pillow, and Sam carefully adds a second finger to start stretching Castiel in earnest. Castiel gasps, partly out of pain this time, but it’s only little, some burning sensation that goes with the inevitable spark when Sam curls his two fingers, hits that place again, and Castiel’s moan this time around is loud and uncaringly wanton. He’s rapidly getting hard again, can feel the heated blood rush back into his cock while Sam scissors his fingers, apart and closed, apart and closed in rhythmic, calculated, way too slow movements.

“Harder, Sam. You can do that harder.” He gasps, and Sam, the assbutt, chuckles softly. “I figured that when you pressed your hole against my knuckles already, Cas.” He strokes Cas’ ass cheeks mockingly gentle, and just because he can, pauses for a breath before he continues, with the same calm, steady movements. “Doing so well, angel, opening right up for me.”

Castiel whimpers softly, unable to catch half a clear thought, his whole body aching with sensation. The skin of his back is tingling with Dean’s touch, his cock is throbbing insistently again, and Sam’s fingers inside are loosening him, and he wants them deeper, harder, faster.

After what feels like way too long, Sam pushes a third finger in, and this time Castiel relaxes against the burn, almost immediately losing himself in the pleasure. “Please, Sam, not again. Can’t so slow…” He’s babbling, worse, he’s begging, and only gets tender caresses in return. Dean manhandles him up, pushing him into a sitting position on Sam's lap, and Castiel doesn’t complain because it means that for a very brief second, the pressure of Sam’s fingers is almost, almost enough. Then Sam catches him, holds him steady with his free arm around his waist, and mouths along Castiel’s neck: “So greedy for my fingers, Cas. Think you’re ready?”

His hand brushes ever so lightly over the tip of Castiel’s cock, and Castiel hisses. “Yes. Please, fuck me.”

“Gonna burn. You like the pain, Cas?” Sam’s voice is hypnotic in his ear, his fingers finally speeding up. “Want me to thrust into you, feel like you’re split up by my thick cock? That what you want, angel?”

“Please, please, Sam…” It’s all Castiel can say, all he can think, the need consuming everything else.

“Oh fuck, Cas, you’re driving me insane.” Dean’s voice is wrecked, and when Castiel reluctantly opens his eyes, he sees that it’s because he has been fingering himself open, eyes trained on Castiel in Sam’s hold. Their eyes meet, and the next moment Dean is kissing him fiercely, tongues and teeth clashing, and then Dean’s hand is on Cas’ cock, cold and slick, lubing him up, and Castiel shivers under the touch, only growing harder.

“Fuck me.” Dean growls and grabs Sam’s shoulders, pulling both Cas and Sam above him so all three of them tumble back onto the mattress gracelessly. Sam huffs in annoyance, but Cas returns the growl all but feral and Dean pushes his ass against him, desperate for the contact. Dean’s hands dig into Castiel’s hips, and in return he grabs Dean’s hair, pulling sharply, making Dean groan, and then it’s Cas sucking marks until Dean grabs his cock and lines him up against his tight hole. “C’mon, Cas, I’ve waited years for this!”

“So have I.” Cas replies and pushes his hips forward sharply. Dean’s gasp is worth the wait, worth everything, just like Sam’s sharp intake of breath and the muttered “Holy fuck” Castiel barely hears, because Dean is tight and hot around him, clenching rhythmically. Sam pushes, then, ever so slightly, crooks his fingers and makes Cas’ hips snap until he’s buried as deep as possible, resting inside Dean and using all his concentration on not letting himself go right then and there.

Sam withdraws his fingers, leaving a sudden, gaping emptiness, and mutters a low, sharp “Don’t move!”

“You’re ours now, Cas.” Dean tells Castiel against his lips, the words mixing with gasps as the head of Sam’s cock pushes against Castiel’s greedy, empty hole.

“Never gonna let you go again.” One of Dean’s hands is still on his hips, bruisingly tight, but the other is suddenly at the back of his neck, gripping him firmly, and Castiel can’t do anything but moan.

And then Sam presses into him, torturously slow, burning like he promised and so, so good.

“Don’t move.” Sam repeats the order, lightly bites Castiel’s shoulder for emphasis, and both Sam and Dean hold his hips in place, captive between them.

“He feel tight, Sammy?” Dean rasps, meeting his brother’s eyes over Cas’ shoulder. “Tight ‘n snug?”

“Fuck yes.” Sam pants, rocking his cock even deeper into Castiel. “So good, angel, you feel so fucking good.”

“Sam.” Castiel whimpers, because he’s splitting full, pressure to the brim on everything inside him, and Sam isn’t done, pushing further, and then he bottoms out, arms braced on either side of Dean and Cas, his body covering Castiel’s completely. Castiel can’t breathe, can’t think, can only feel the small, circular motions of Sam’s pelvis, moving against and inside him, changing the pressure on that one spot in time with his movements.

He meets Sam’s next not-quite-thrust, arching his hips backwards, and then rocks into Dean, establishing a small, slow rhythm that has all three of them breathe heavily.

“Oh god, _fuck_ , Cas, Sammy, get a move on, will ya? _Fuck!_ ” Dean curses, and Sam’s too out of it, holding on to the last bits of his self control to find it amusing. He licks up a salty strip of skin on the back of Cas’ neck, resulting in another one of those wanton sounds, and that’s the one that breaks Sam’s restraint. He shoves into Cas’ sharper and faster, breaking the rhythm and quickly enforcing a new one, as fast and hard as all three of them need it.

“Like that, angel? This what you wanted?” He hisses the words into Castiel’s ear, but Castiel is unable to comprehend them, overwhelmed between the feeling of Sam pounding into him, hot and merciless, and Dean under him, so tight and delicious around his cock. “Won’t… last long…” the words are lost between the three of them, but Dean somehow registers them. He reaches for his cock and strokes, staring mesmerized at both Cas’ and Sammy’s faces, recognizes that way Cas his gasping and that muscle in Sam’s jaw clenching, and the picture brings him to orgasm first. Dean groans loudly, his cock spurting and his ass convulsing around Cas’ frenzied thrusts, and that in turn triggers both Sam and Cas, like the best motherfucking awesome chain reaction in the universe.

Cas is coming inside Dean, he can feel the liquid spurts, and his blue eyes are wide with sensation, experiencing just the same thing, Sam pumping into him with a few last, satisfied rocks of his hips before he collapses on both of them.

It takes a very long moment until the need for oxygen cancels out the post orgasmic bliss and Dean makes the whole constellation collapse sideways. They all snuggle up to each other, sticky and sweaty as they are, and nothing short of a major apocalypse could make Dean even consider getting out of bed right now. Cas is still between them, breathing slowly, with his half closed eyes wearing an almost stoned look on his face. Sam is curling up around him, using his gigantor limbs to draw Dean in even though he’s already almost asleep- really good sex always will do that to his brother.

Dean reaches over and brushes some stray strands of hair out of Sam’s face, smoothing them down, and unfairly enough, even after a hot gay threesome his little brother’s hair looks almost unruffled. Cas of course is the ridiculous opposite, somehow making him look even more adorable as he relaxes into Sam’s hold and snuggles into the pillow.

“No thinking.” Cas mumbles grumpily and pulls Dean even closer. Dean in turn huffs and with his foot, angles for the blanket, which had been shoved almost off the bed some time ago when everyone was too occupied to notice. Dean pulls the blanket over all of them- it’s a tight fit, but it works- and looking at the two dozing men, Dean obliges Cas’ requests and closes his eyes. A few minutes later, all three of them are asleep.

 


	2. Reluctant Omega!Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Past mentioned rape, or at least extremely dubious consent

_Cold_. Dean is shaking under four layers of clothes, and clenches his jaw, because _Fuck this_. It was inevitable, he knew this was coming, but restless spirits don’t take people’s fertility periods in account, especially not those of omega-hating beta preachers preying on little boys.

“Dean?” Sam is watching him, all concerned and authoritative and brotherly-worried. Dean almost believes him.

“’M fine.” He growls, because he can. Dad’s long gone, and no one else has dared to tell him to behave like a proper Omega in a long time.

“You’re almost-”

“I said I’m fine, Sam.” Dean’s jaw is clenched, and his knuckles are white, clenching Baby’s steering wheel. His body continues with the impulse to shake, generating warmth, heightening base temperature. Heat.

“Okay.”

* * *

_“Oh god. No.” Sam kneels before him, looking up at Dean with wide eyes. He hasn’t cried since before he got his soul back, alphas are big and strong. Alphas don’t cry, or maybe only ever when just their big brothers can see._

_“Dean, I remember now-”_

_“Don’t.”_

_“This is why.” Sam says, the devastating realization dawning on his face. “You’ve been different, but you were trying to hide it, because I-”_

_“It wasn’t you, Sam.” Dean’s voice is harsher than intended._

_“Dean, you know-”_ that’s not true _. At least he doesn't say it out loud. Soul or no soul, instincts of the body always stay the same. Even those instincts that never should have existed._

_“Drop the topic.”_

_“I’m so sorry.” Sam whispers. “You were in heat, and I just, I-” His little brother, broken. An alpha on his knees, begging for forgiveness. “You have to know I never would- not without your consent, Dean. Never.”_

_“Shut up.” Dean growls. Wrong, so wrong, he should be disgusted by the mere thought. They could have kids, Dean is an omega, wrong is all this ever was, all this ever would be._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“I know, Sammy.”_

_It is the last time Dean calls him that._

* * *

 

Dean is not fine. Dean is so far from fine, it would be hilarious, best joke since the apocalypse, if he weren’t hurting so fucking much, his body drowning him in hot-cold shivers.

“Hello Sam. Hello Dean-” Castiel stops short at the bunker’s door when Dean’s scent hits him right in the face. He’s new to this, still so sensitive that he hasn’t learned to hide his body’s instinctual response yet, like polite people do. He makes an aborted motion to grab Dean, his stance widening, pupils dilated, only to realize what’s happening and freeze. Sam carefully doesn’t move at all, watching with his face unreadable.

Dean has enough of this shit.

“Hey Cas.” He doesn’t acknowledge either of the two alphas with anything more than a brief glance. Dean met his Mom when she was young, twice, and he thinks she’d be fairly proud of how he’s mastered the ice-bitch-queen. He’s an omega, every asshole with a knot thinks they’re entitled to him, Dean learned that the hard way. It’s a careful dance, ignoring all conscious and subconscious advances without riling up tempers, but Dean made it his art. He’s untouchable.

“Dean, you are going into heat.”

“Hundred points to Captain Obvious.” Dean throws the bag with the guns on the bunker’s table, all of his instincts screaming at him to quit turning his back on the two alphas.

“I’ll be in my room.”

* * *

 

 _Cas is an alpha. Of course he is. Dean knew God was a major dick, a motherfucking asshole, but this. This is God’s very own, personal middle-finger to Dean Winchester, he couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d let a giant_ Fuck You _appear on Dean’s bedroom wall._

_The first time Cas comes into the bunker, fallen, dirty, wet from rain and hungry, it takes him half a breath to pin Dean against the next available surface. Dean goes stone-still, all ingrained instincts to fight failing him and panic overruling everything else. Cas smells like dirt and blind lust, everything inside Dean clenching tight at the vivid recollections the smell brings up._

_And then Sam is there, physically forcing Cas off him, his face torn between worry and protective (possessive) anger. Cas’ eyes are full blown with need, but a moment later self-awareness returns and his expression turns innocently horrified._

_“Be back in three days.” Dean says through clenched teeth, and carefully not-runs away, no need to give those predator instincts any more leverage._

_Of course Cas is an alpha. Sam helps him through his first rut, does for their angel what Dean never could do for his own brother. Cas is an alpha, like Dean had been supposed to be. Cas and Sam can be true brothers, but they don't have to be all the time. They can be more. They are more._

Good omegas don’t bitch. Good omegas take care of their family. No alpha likes a needy bitch who don’t know when to shut up. Oh son, how do you ever expect to get a good alpha with that attitude of yours? Don’t pout, omega. Jealousy makes you ugly.

_Dean shouldn’t feel that the angel is a traitor, only because he had been the only person that never judged Dean for his gender. Before._

_Cas is an alpha. Of course he is._

* * *

 

The lock clicks, and Dean doesn’t think it’s going to be enough later on. The men of letters never built heat rooms, assuming any omegas that got into the bunker at all were going to be mated. For now, though, it’ll have to do.

About once a year, Dean’s cycle forces itself unto him, suppressants no longer enough to quieten the overloaded hormonal feedback loops of his body. Usually when he feels it coming on, he vanishes into a cheap motel with a safe room for omegas for the duration. He was only caught unawares once.

Twice, if this time counts.

He goes to his dresser, fishes the key out of the secret compartment and unlocks the lowest drawer. His supply of suppressants is still almost fully stocked, but the contraception shot is the last one he’s got. It’s a precaution he takes every time (almost every time) before a heat. Hunters shouldn’t have kids. The needle stings when he rams it through the denim into his thigh, but it beats the thumb-big bitter pill that made him bleed for three days straight the one time he didn’t manage to get the shot before. Both substances equally illegal, but at least the shot won’t make him puke his guts out days later.

A knock.

“Dean?”

“What do you want?” He’s trying hard to remain civil, but his temper’s on the rise already- hormones going rampant. The loss of control over his emotions is possibly what Dean hates most.

“Do you… need anything?” Sam asks, so careful, almost too soft to get through the wood.

_A steel door would be fucking practical._

“I’m good.”

_Too late to drive out anywhere now._

Dean shivers, but his palms are sweaty. There’s moisture between his ass cheeks, making the skin between his thighs glide easily when he shifts his weight. A twinge of need crawls up his spine, pulling along the threat of more.

“Cas is sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just… can you leave for a couple days?”

Sam is silent for a long time.

“Two days.”

“Yeah.” Good. Two days. The average heat lasts one and a half, and Dean’s already started. He can work with two days.

Sam shuffles audibly.

“Alright.”

* * *

 

It hurts. Not in a pleasantly aching lustful way. It hurts like there’s a hole in his body, like something’s been torn out of him. For the first half day, Dean is too out of it just breathing, curled up on his bed, and there’s too much pain to bother with moving, let alone undressing or reaching for the toy on his nightstand an arm’s length away.

His alarm clock beeps annoyingly, and Dean clenches his teeth, hits the button and forces his body to obey. Now he _has_ to sit up half-way, force a small bottle of water down his throat. The liquid has room temperature, but it feels like ice in his stomach. At the same time his skin feels so hot, he makes the effort to undress with shaky fingers. It’s a chore, takes three times as long as he usually would, and the clothes fall off the bed in a careless heap of plaid and denim.

At least the cool covers of his bed feel good on his burning body, but that doesn’t last long, and soon Dean is trapped at that annoying point between too hot with blanket and too cold without. Coupled with the still growing need and his rampant emotions forcing their way through his body, he’s reduced to dry sobs within an hour. He knows it’s just his hormones playing tricks, but he feels a violent surge of abandonment rushing through him, coupled with raging anger at Sam, Cas, his Dad, society, the world, god. Himself.

He shoves the toy up his ass roughly, the stretch fast and painful despite the slick- it’s been over two years since anything penetrated him like this, and it aches, the pain satisfactory for a short moment. Still, no matter how much Dean moves the plastic phallus, it never fits everywhere he needs it at the same time, and Dean has the faint suspicion that if the dead piece of plastic were three times as thick, it still wouldn’t be enough.

It’s better than nothing.

He leaves it in, unyielding, hard and cool inside his body, and pulls the blankets up. In a last effort to make the wait bearable, Dean grabs his iPod and turns it on full volume, something to distract him from the physical pain, and the worse loneliness that is nesting behind his breastbone.

Ramble on opens the playlist, and Dean shuts his eyes.

* * *

 

Something’s not like it’s supposed to be. He’s lost count how often his playlist has repeated itself, but finally the battery that was supposed to last 36 hours gives out. He’s out of water. Dean glances at the date on the clock.

It’s all he can do not to start crying. Two days have passed and he’s still in pain, everything hurts, everything needs. _Mate_ a voice in Dean’s head whispers wanting. _Need mate._ He’s too tired to force the thoughts out, too hurt.

Someone knocks on his door.

“Dean?” Sam knows, Sam knows he’s not alright. The door isn’t airtight, he could probably smell it the moment he came in. “Dean, can you answer me?”

“Go away.” Dean has no idea how he manages to speak, how he gets the air into his lungs and his voice not to break, but he does.

“Dean, you’re still in heat. Can you- do you need anything?”

“No. Go away.” Dean repeats.

There’s a low curse outside, someone’s fist hits the wall next to the door, and then, _what?_ , footsteps leaving.

Dean sinks back into the pillow, relieved and disappointed, too tired for denial.

Half an hour later, though, the lock on his door gets picked. Dean rolls up, pulling the blanket around his frame instinctively when the door is opened slowly, and he manages a snarl when Sam and Cas come in. “Leave.”

“Hear us out, please.” Cas says, his frown tight with concentration. He’s breathing shallowly, but seems surprisingly in control.

“Dean.” Sam sinks to his knees three steps from the bed, clearly trying his best to look as non-threatening as possible. “You need help.”

“Fuck off, Sam.”

“You could let Cas help.” His little brother blurts out.

And then the scent hits him. _Alpha._ Pinewood and sand and sweat and safety. _Release._ Both of them. Both of those bastards just got off, probably jerked off right before they came to talk to him, assholes, and the scent punches its way into Dean’s brain, bypassing conscience and filters, striking right into his basic instincts. _Need._

Dean whimpers, and both Sam and Cas come nearer, and stop when Dean’s panic becomes apparent.

“I can’t…”

“Not again, it’s not gonna happen again, Dean.” Sam’s voice is low and fierce and so, so trustable. “But you gotta let us help you, please.”

“I will not do anything you object to, I swear it on my life.” Cas says.

Dean closes his eyes, trying in vain to stop his trembling. The alpha scent is reverberating in his nerves, singing in his blood, making the pain easier and worse at the same time. He’s rock hard from the mixed smells alone, something that never happened during any heat before. And he wants. Need isn’t even a question, but God help him, he wants.

“Both of you.” The words leave his mouth and he immediately wants to suck them back in.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice forces him to open his eyes, meet that intense blue gaze. “Are you certain?”

“Need you.” Dean feels pathetic, knows he is weaker than ever before right now, and he embraces the loathing that comes with the realization.

“Anytime. You can say stop anytime.” Sam says, jaw clenched and then he sits on Dean’s messy bed and Dean crawls into his lap, burying his nose in Sam’s neck, shaking with silent sobs. Hands stroke along his back, dry, warm, calloused, and then Cas kisses his neck and Dean is enveloped in _Alpha_. The two scents he loves most in the world, and they want him, he can smell the lust, but there’s also an equal amount of concern and tenderness, which is ridiculous. He’s not a kid that needs comforting, and yet he revels in the unexpected safety this position offers.

“That’s right, breathe.” Sam’s voice is calm and soothing, and Dean is annoyed at himself because it works, makes him relax. He fumbles with the buttons of Sam’s shirt, feels Sam doing the same with Cas’ in his back, and after a minute of hasty undressing, both alphas embrace him, skin on skin. For the first time in days, the hurt lessens ever so slightly, and suddenly Dean feels just a little too warm all over.

“Please…” He whispers the words, as if that somehow is less degrading. “Need you to fuck me.” Dean’s not gonna beg for a knot, never has, never will. He made that vow to himself before he was a teenager, and he’s gonna keep it to his death. But fucking, this is something Dean can ask for, if he has to. He has to.

“You can interrupt it anytime.” Cas reminds him, his voice cutting through Dean like a hot knife through butter. Dean grinds down against both of them in lieu of an answer, nothing left to lose concerning his dignity, and both alphas’ grips on him tighten ever so slightly. It’s not unsettling Dean, surprisingly enough.

While Cas shifts, getting rid of his jeans, Sam’s fingers find their way down into the warm wetness where Dean’s greedy hole has sucked in the cheap dildo almost entirely.

“You won’t ever need to use that again if you don’t want to.” He promises and Dean meets his eyes, pupils blown wide while he pulls the toy out. “Sam…”

“Cas is gonna go first, to help him keep in control, okay?” Sam’s gaze is intense, but somehow not threatening, and Dean wouldn’t have thought that possible mere days ago. He nods faintly.

“Do you consent to this?” Cas’ question vibrates against his back.

“Yeah.” Dean sucks in a sharp breath when the head of Cas cock’ catches on his hole. “Please.” He bites his lip before anything else can escape him, and then Cas’ hands on his hips pull him down, and _fuck_ does it feel good.

Lips brush over Dean’s, briefly, and he looks up at his brother who is watching him, a trace of insecurity in his eyes. Dean rocks back onto Cas, splitting himself so deliciously, making Cas groan, and pulls Sam in for a proper kiss.

“Yes.” Cas growls into his ear, slowly speeding up their movements, and Dean can’t help the small whimpering noises escaping him with each thrust. It feels divine and he’s been on tense overload for so long, he’s rapidly approaching climax. He tries to warn them, both of them, but Sam just meets his eyes knowingly, and then suddenly his brother’s hand is on Dean’s cock and it’s too much.

He has no idea what kind of noise he makes, only feels his hole clench tight, and Cas grips his hips with bruising strength, and then Cas is coming inside him, hot, wet spurts sucked in greedily, and for one blissful fracture of a second, the need is almost entirely gone. He sags into their arms and they catch him so easily, and it does not feel like a first time at all.

Cas pulls out too quick because otherwise a knot would form, and Dean hisses in protest, but Cas puts his hand on the back of Dean’s neck instead and squeezes slightly.

“Cheap shot.” Dean mumbles, because it’s a dominant gesture that’s primed into omegas, evolved to ensure submissiveness. It’s also one of Dean’s personal most erogenous zones and from the way Cas’ fingers play on his skin, he has noticed that as well.

“Knotting at this point would be ill-advised.” Cas says, his voice raw but his tone gentle.

“Can I carry you?” Sam asks, with a kind of respect that’s neither patronizing nor condescending.

“Where?”

“My room. Your bed’s kind of a mess.” Sam looks at him with faint worry. “We could go to Cas’ too, but my bed is bigger. Or stay here, if that makes you more comfortable.”

“Your room’s fine.” Dean says, and when he turns to see Cas’ reaction, he’s met with a warm smile.

Sam lifts him up easily and carries him bridal-style, which is a million kinds of embarrassing, but at least it allows Dean to cling closer to him and that soothes the renewing need somewhat. The hallway air is cold, but Sam’s room has a decent temperature. His brother still radiates concerned alpha all over the place when Dean shivers, but Dean makes sure to answer every worried glance with a dirty glare.

Then Cas is beside him, unconcerned by both their nakedness, and he puts a blanket over Dean’s shoulders.

“Here.” Dean is handed a freshly unscrewed bottle of water. “You show signs of dehydration.”

“No shit Sherlock.” Dean mumbles, but he swallows half a litre in one go nonetheless and it actually makes the small beginning headache go away.

“What do you need?” Sam asks him softly, and well, that one’s a no-brainer. The hollow, greedy feeling inside is rapidly taking residence in the forefront of Dean’s mind again, and now that he feels less tired out, the ache is also renewed in strength.

“Need you to fuck me.” His own words make Dean shudder, forbidden, craving. Sam’s eyes widen, and there’s something dark in there, but it’s overpowered by hesitancy and fierce anxiousness, and Dean wonders how he hasn’t seen it before.

“Dean, you don’t h-”

He cuts his brother off the best way he knows how to, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him in, crashing their lips together again, and Sam growls and pins him to the bed, and there’s a bulge in his jeans. Dean wants.

“Cas.” he gasps when they break apart for air. “Help me get the fucking clothes off him?”

“As you wish.” There’s amusement and lust evident in the smaller alpha’s eyes as he follows the writhing omega’s requests.

“Fuck, Dean, you sure?” Sam is mouthing the words against Dean’s throat, teeth caressing the tender skin and Dean’s hips move on their own accord. “Yes, Sam, fuck, please. Need it so much.” _Need you so much._

Sam’s too slow, too careful, and Dean remembers the sting in his thigh and _fuck it, wanted this so long_ , and the pleading, low whine makes Sam snap. He shoves forward and Dean welcomes him, sobbing with relief at the fierce, warm stretch.

“Does it feel good, Dean?” Cas asks. “You’ve wanted this, Sam taking you, wanted it since your first heat.” It’s the low and hypnotic truth almost driving him over the edge right then and there.

“Yes. God yes, so long. Feels so good, Sammy, don’t stop, please Alpha!” Dean lets his mouth go and Sam ruts into him relentlessly in return, bruising pace, all gentleness overruled by possessive lust.

“Dean, gonna come.” Sam rasps, and Dean grabs his shoulders, leaving his own marks.

“S’okay Sammy. Took care of it. M’ not…” He loses track of his words when Sam breathes along his neck: “Tell me I can.” The movement is so good, Sam pounding into him, and Dean can barely breathe.

“Can.” He feels his hole tremble, clench down. “Can come inside me. Want your come inside me.”

“Fuck!” Sam explodes into him with a shout, the words all it takes, and Dean follows right along, and it’s pure bliss. He’s vaguely aware of Cas’ hand on his cock, drawing it out, making it last longer, and the pleasure fades out only slowly.

Sam rolls off him painfully soon, not knotting him either, and the low protesting sound Dean produces at the missing weight is met by Cas’ chapped lips on his forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth.

“Not yet.” Sam’s still out of breath, but he curls around Dean. “Not without your consent.”

“Let you fuck me. How more obvious can it get?” Dean mutters, squirming in between them. He’s half-way to relaxed for the first time in days, the returning ache toned down to a really annoying itch, but he knows this won’t last overlong.

“How do you feel?” Sam asks and Dean allows himself a smile. “Good. Not completely caught up in crappy hormones anymore.”

“Don’t worry.” Cas says calmly. “We’re gonna fuck them right out of you.”

Dean’s head snaps around, and his body reacts to the words with a quick wave of wanton need. “Shit Cas, you can’t just go and say stuff like that!”

Sam chuckles under his breath. “Who knew you got a kink for dirty talk.”

“Fuck you very much, Alphas. How about you follow up with actions?” Dean challenges, and yeah, he’s prissy again, but his hole is also throbbing demandingly, and the way both their eyes darken is better than Dean’s most sinful fantasies.

They move in tandem, grabbing him, and then Dean is turned onto his stomach and pinned to the mattress, and he buries the moan into Sam’s pillow, exposing his neck.

“You want it?” Cas’ breath brushes his ear, the warmth of his body is hovering over Dean, and Dean spreads his thighs, obeying his instincts. “Yes!”

It doesn’t take more than that for Cas to move, and he’s not quite as big as Sam, but the curve of his cock alone, rubbing all the right places inside, is almost enough to make Dean climax, and Cas' scent is fierce, untamed rut.

“I want to bite you.” It’s simultaneously the best and worst thing to say, and Dean’s rhythm falters. He wants, but this goes beyond heat, biting means mating, and mating isn’t for hunters…

“Not yet?” Sam suggests, and Dean nods jerkily.

“You’re thinking about it.” Sam observes with a smirk, and Dean is honest-to-god blushing. “So what- fuck, Cas, right there, please!”

“I know you Dean. You’ve wanted Cas before he even became human.” Sam leans in to nibble on Dean’s ear gently. “Been thinking about getting marked by an angel, show everyone you’re owned, right?”

Dean can only whimper in return when Cas quickens his thrusts, and then Sam says: “If you were mates, I could watch you getting bred all day long.” and that sends Dean right over the edge again, coming into the twisted sheets, his body tight around Cas who comes right after.

Panting harshly, Dean takes a moment to gather his thoughts, then he meets Sam’s eyes again. “Don’t wanna mate either of you.”

“I know.” Cas replies lowly into his ear as he pulls out, nuzzling the back of Dean’s head. “You want both of us.”

It’s not a question, and Dean doesn’t bother denying it. Seeing the expression in Sam’s eyes he realizes he’s never felt more vulnerable than in this very moment.

“Dean…” Sam leans down, and Dean allows himself to become pliant under his mouth. Their kiss is pure possessiveness, and it feels right, something sliding into place that has been amiss his whole life.

“Please, Sam, Cas, need you…” Their hands are all over him, firm, claiming and it’s not enough, not enough by far.

“Wanna knot you.” Sam whispers, making Dean shiver. “Think you could take Cas ‘n me at the same time?”

The mere idea almost makes Dean come again, and the pulsing between his legs turns back to painful, slick pouring out of him. “Oh fuck, yes Sammy. Need that.” He holds his breath, holds in the begging, but his consent is sufficient encouragement.

“Once we’re knotted there’s no out.” Sam warns him, as if Dean didn’t know, as if Dean cared.

“Don’t want out. Trust you.” Dean moans when Cas’ hand slips between his cheeks, into the wetness, and pushes two fingers into him. “What’re you doin’, shit, Cas-” Cas’ fingers are just as skilled as his cock, hitting all the right places unerringly, and when he effortlessly slides in a third finger, scissoring wide, his voice rumbles against Dean’s back: “Preparing you.”

“M’ an omega you idiot, don’t need prep!”

“Sure.” Sam snorts softly and nibbles on Dean’s earlobe while his hand joins Cas’, and knuckles touching, both alphas’ fingers sink into him, four, five, six, working Dean’s twitching hole loose and sloppy torturously slow. Dean completely loses control over what noises he makes, only knows he needs something more, bigger than fingers, real soon or he’s going to combust with urgency.

They pull back their hands, finally, and position Dean half over Sam, between them. Dean spreads his legs eagerly, his back arched and his mind frenzied with longing, and then Sam and Cas both line up against him and he pushes back impatiently.

“Now!” He demands in a low whine, before they can waste any more time with questions, and they push in.

Stretching pain, more than Dean expected, but also bliss, pure ecstasy. His slick isn’t enough to cancel out all the friction that comes from the sheer combined girth and it’s all Dean can feel and everything he needs.

“Fuck.” Sammy curses into the skin of his neck and Cas answers with a low, feral growl, and it’s tight, close, completely perfect.

They move, slow, even thrusts, working the rhythm and Dean, caught in between them loses his mind completely, the touch and feeling of their joined bodies fills the whole universe.

Cas is sucking bruises into his skin greedily, and Sam’s fingers are gonna leave imprints on his hips and shoulders, and Dean wants it all, suck in all their caresses, that mixed scent, the little noises, breaths, grunts, Dean wants to drink all of this and never let it go again.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice is broken, last warning, and Dean moans in turn. “C’mon, Cas, Sam, Fucking do it!”

They come, their release triggering Dean’s own instinctively, and this time they stay in him, hot and snug, not letting go. Dean feels both their knots begin to swell inside, pressing against each other and stretching him more, locking all three of them together.

“So good, Dean.” Sam mumbles into his hair. “You feel so good.”

“Warm.” Cas agrees in his scratchy voice, and Dean feels him smile into his shoulder. “And you smell like home.”

Dean buries his face between the pillow and Sam’s neck, because he doesn’t deserve this, not a bit of it. They continue nonetheless, soft caresses and mumbled words, more tender than he can bear.

Every five minutes for almost half an hour, their bodies climax again, biology automatically calling upon the settings for maximum chances of impregnation, and Dean would marvel at how in sync the two alphas- his two alphas are, but he’s pushed into an orgasm himself every time they are, and when the knots finally go down, his brain is so mushy with afterglow and pleasure, it takes him a few minutes to notice the ache of the heat is almost entirely gone, more of a vague sense of non-hurting emptiness than a serious itch.

“You should get some sleep while you’re able to.” Cas says observantly, and draws the covers over them.

“Gonna need you when I wake up.” Dean mumbles, his throat still tightening at the admittance of this damn weakness.

“We’ll be here.” Sam promises, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair soothingly. “You won’t be alone, Dean.”

Dean relaxes then. Whatever this is gonna change between them, it can wait until the heat is gone. Sam and Cas have his back, they’re gonna protect him for now.

“Sleep.” Cas insists softly, a hint of grumpiness in his voice, and Dean smiles, his thoughts slowing.

Just before he falls into unconsciousness, he mumbles: “Thank you.”

 


	3. Dean as Persephone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is Persephone, Sam and Castiel are the Lords of the Underworld. You know where this is going.
> 
> WARNING: Graphic Rape, Romanticized Rape, Mind Control, could be read as Drugged Rape. Dark Under-, over- and middletones (it's about 7/10 on my personal fucked-up scale) 
> 
> If these things trigger you, do not read this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, heed the Warnings. Rape. Don't say I did not warn you. THERE IS RAPE IN THIS STORY!
> 
> Oh yes, and and a diaulos is an ancient Greek unit of measurement equalling 2 stadions, aka 369.9m or 404.5yd (thank you Master Wikipedia)

The grand hall is silent, only a pair of footsteps resounding from the cold obsidian. Not even the flambeaus, bursting bright red with the King’s silent fury, make any noise.

Crowley kneels before his Lords.

“What do you want, demon?” The Raven is lounging at the King’s feet. When Crowley has the audacity to look up unbidden, the black-haired man raises, lethal gracefulness in all of his movements as he walks down the stairs of the throne. The demon swallows, little beads of sweat running down his neck. It is amusing.

“My Lords, I was sent by the lower ranks, to inquire after our wrongdoings.” The groveling at least is appropriate. “Surely there has to be something we can do to appease you.”

“You would think.” The King says. He is leaning back, chin resting on one hand, watching his Raven and his subject under lowered lids.

“If you were so gracious to tell us our wrongs so we can hrrrgh-” thin, blue-glowing threads of magic weave around the demon’s throat, float into his mouth until he lies on the floor, choking.

“I am growing tired of your honeyed tongue.” The Raven growls. “You are well aware that we are content with your handling of the domains we gave you.” He snaps his fingers and the ribbons of energy disappear, leaving their vassal gasping for breath, scrambling to his knees. “Nonetheless, your subjects are growing restless whenever your Lordships’ anger rises…”

“And what would you have us do?” The King asks, cruel amusement ringing through the question that is so obviously a trap.

“I dare not presume to know your Lordship’s mind. There has been talk among the lower ranks, though, if you would like to hear it?” Ah, yes, Crowley is no fool. In fact he’s the most cunning custodian they’ve had in centuries, killing him off would be a waste of talent, sadly.

“Talk.” The Raven says coldly.

“The predominant opinion seems to be that it is time for your Lordships to take a Consort- of course I’d never think in terms of that insolence, but you know the peasants.” Crowley keeps his eyes firmly on the lowest step of the throne this time around. “If you were to take a Consort, it would reassure a great lot of your subjects.”

The King does not react, and neither does the Raven for that matter, except for turning around and gliding back up to the throne in a breath.

“Dismissed.” The King says, and Crowley makes a hasty, continuously bowing retreat.

When the high gates of black metal fall shut behind him, the Raven tilts his head, most birdlike in contemplation. “The idea has merit.”

“Is there someone who caught your eye?”

“Once, in flight. A golden-haired child. I returned for him some time later and befriended him as a bird.”

“Show me.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Heads up!” Jo calls, laughing as she dashes through the undergrowth. Dean grins and leans forward on Impala’s back, following right after her, and as soon as they’re out of the forest, his black steed easily overtakes hers.

“Wait for me!” Kevin calls from behind them and then he and the rest of their small hunting party join them on the wild ride over the golden fields of their home.

The house they approach is grand, white with a bright red tiled roof, green ivy climbing the walls. They enter the court, and when Dean jumps off Impala’s back, his mother is waiting for him with a fond smile.

Mary, the Goddess of the Hunt, golden locks braided into an elaborate crown, kisses her son on the forehead. “Did you enjoy yourselves?”

“Yes, mother.” Dean answers and fishes in his pocket for his gift. He hands it to her and she unwraps the soft piece of cloth gingerly to reveal the pair of pretty silver earrings, a flowery design interwoven with small pieces of amethyst. “Oh sweetheart, they are beautiful.”

He hides his bashful grin when he receives another kiss. Jo and Ash snicker quietly in the background, but Dean is used to that. He rolls his eyes at them because soon enough, their mother Ellen, first of the Goddess’ own hunting party, swoops in to cluck over her children.

As Mary pulls her son inside the house, someone else is standing in the doorway waiting for him. A smile of pride lights up his father’s eyes, the wrinkles around his eyes a bit more prominent than when Dean left a few months ago. The first, dignified traces of silver adorn the Goddess’ mortal husband, but he still stands tall, immortal love sparing him from the more inconvenient signs of age.

“Welcome home, Son.”

“Thank you, Father.” Dean answers and gets a short, gruff hug that fills his heart with happiness. As much as he loves riding with his friends, exploring the wild lands and hunting monsters, Dean loves coming back to his home just as much.

He brings Impala into the stable himself and sees that she is comfortable, before he is promptly ushered inside where a proper feast is waiting for all of them.

Mary is the Goddess of the Hunt, but she is also protector of women and children, and in the home she has made for her family on earth, the hearth fire burns steady and warm. The afternoon is merry, the returned hunters boasting with tales of their adventures, monsters defeated and cities saved. The sweet, cool juices of the fruit that grow in Mary’s garden still taste better than any other drink, and laughter fills the air until the sun begins to set.

“I think I’ll take Impala out for another short ride. She’s used to moving all day now.” Dean announces towards his parents, a golden ray of sunshine tickling his nose.

“You barely just arrived, boy.” John sighs. “Will there ever be a day when that restlessness of yours fades?”

“Leave him be. It is the energy of youth.” Mary smiles at her husband and her son. “Dean will settle down some day, beloved, he just needs to find his place in the world.”

“For now, I’m totally fine with looking.” Dean grins. “Don’t worry father, I’ll be back before the ninth hour.”

John grumbles something about whippersnappers that makes his mother laugh, and Dean goes to retrieve Impala, his heart and spirit light.

Both horse and rider know the paths and meadows around Mary’s house blind, so Dean lets his steed chose their path. Even though the sun is touching the horizon, the air is still very warm, the smell of corn and grass heavy in the air. When Dean realizes where Impala is heading, he leans forward eagerly, and they gallop the last piece of the way towards the old grove. It’s holy ground, the trees are very old and will never be felled, and to Dean it is like coming home a second time- this was his playground as a child, his hiding place as an adolescent, just out of sight of the house.

Impala carries him through the gentle shadows towards the center, a small pond of clear water fed by a happily bubbling spring that emerges out of the rocks.

A fluttering movement out of the corner of his eye catches Dean’s attention, and when he turns to look, he smiles unwittingly. A magpie is sitting on a low branch of the nearest tree, watching him attentively. The bird’s feathers are tinted cerulean, and its eyes are a very dark, almost-black blue. Dean recognizes it instantly. “Hey little friend. I haven’t seen you in a long while.”

The magpie tilts its head, as if to shrug, and Dean chuckles friendly. “It’s nice to see you again.”

It is by no means an ordinary bird, Dean can feel the intelligence behind those eyes. He remembers one time, when he was young and got lost not far from the grove, it was the magpie that had led him back home again that day.

Now the bird accompanies his path, and when Dean dismounts Impala, it chooses a branch that overlooks the whole small clearing. Impala makes a nervous movement, stepping away from the tree line, and Dean coos softly, calming her down. “Shh, it’s alright, Baby.” That nickname is secret, but there’s no one here to mock him for it, so Dean makes a soothing noise and strokes his steed’s flank. “Just a magpie.”

She puffs, still nervous, and Dean frowns- she’s not usually that easily startled. Glancing around the growing shadows of the trees, he confirms that they’re alone, and with a shrug, steps towards the pond.

The water looks heavenly, and Dean quickly kicks off his sandals and strips out of his tunic and loose riding breeches. The splash that he creates when he jumps into the water makes Impala whinny indignantly. Dean laughs along and goes for a dive- the pond is not very deep, and it takes him only five strong strokes to cross it. The coolness seeping into his overheated skin is nice, washing off the dust and salt. Dean takes a deep breath and turns to float on his back, the water carrying his naked body, little ripples licking on his skin.

Another dive and the light is fading quicker than Dean anticipated, the bottom of the pond already shadowed. When he emerges and spits out the water, Impala whinnies again and he grins at her- and stills. Just for a second, he thinks he sees the silhouette of a tall man standing between the trees, but in a blink, it is gone.

“Alright, that’s a little too creepy for my taste.” He mutters and heaves himself out of the water. Dean is an experienced hunter, and his horse never is uneasy without a reason. “That was a short bath.” He tells her when he pulls the breeches back on.

“Hello Dean.”

He flinches and whirls around, immediately dropping into his instinctive defensive position. The magpie is gone, but below the branch it sat on stands a man, shirtless, in black pants, about as tall as Dean, slender with black hair and blue eyes that Dean recognizes. He relaxes marginally and gives the stranger a hesitant smile. “I knew you’re not a regular bird.” _And you just watched me bathe. What in the name of Olympus are you up to?_

“Yes. My name is Castiel.” The stranger introduces himself in a deep, gravelly voice, and a shiver runs down Dean’s spine when he recognizes that name, realizes just who is standing in front of him.

“You’re the Raven. One of the Lords of the Dark Lands.”

“Indeed.” A voice from behind him says and Dean’s heart leaps into his throat when Impala jumps. He turns to look at the second stranger, who somehow managed to sneak up on both of them, and has to remind himself not to gawk. He is tall, as breathtakingly handsome as Castiel, though in a different way, his muscular chest half revealed by a black silken toga. He looks at Dean, the color of his irises subtly changing between dark gold and stone grey.

“We have been watching you, Dean.”

“I figured that out already.” Dean gives back, swallowing heavily, and the tall stranger’s eyes drop to his throat, following the movement of his Adam’s apple.

“You may call me Sam.” He smiles, and looks friendly, but there’s a hidden edge to it that makes Dean’s instincts flare with warning.

“That’s short for Samuel, as in King of the Dead?” he asks while he quickly pulls his tunic back on.

“Yes.” Castiel confirms and he takes another step closer.

“Er, nice to meet you, your Lordships…” Dean wrecks his brain, thinking of the appropriate title here- he was just taking a walk, he did not mean to stumble upon the Gods of Death.

“How old are you now?” Sam asks him, ignoring the nervousness Dean is fairly certain he’s displaying quite obviously right now.

“I’ll count twenty years next spring.”

“You are a virgin.” Sam adds, half statement, half question and Dean flushes. “I’m a hunter. We don’t… do that unless we settle down.”

“We want you.” Castiel says, low and stern, his eyes boring into Dean’s very soul.

“What?”

“Castiel and I require a Consort. We have chosen you.” Sam says, and Dean takes another instinctive step back. “Sorry, I’m not on the market.”

“You are unclaimed, boy.” Castiel says, dark amusement curling his lips. “You know what happens to the virginal hunter once he is captured.”

And Dean has heard enough. “Well you haven’t captured me.” He swings himself onto Impala’s back, the movement pure, deeply ingrained muscle memory, fuelled by pure panic, and she runs like the wind all on her own, Dean only has to cling to her. There’s the fluttering of wings in their back, and then the feral howls of- hellhounds. _Son of a bitch_.

But his steed was not gifted to him by the Divine Huntress herself for nothing- there is no beast that can outrun her, neither on earth nor in the skies. They break through the tree line and in less than a heartbeat, Impala sprouts and unfolds her wings, with three paces taking Dean high into the dark summersky, and then his mother’s house is in sight again, radiating a warm, soft golden light. He feels the power of her protection when he enters its circle, and when his steed gently lands in the courtyard, Dean is a bit calmer.

 _The Lords of the Dark Lands want me as their Consort._ He breathes slow and evenly against Impala’s neck to control his heartbeat. There is still music coming from the dining hall, but in the state he is in now, there is no way his parents won’t recognize his distress, and Dean is loathe to ruin the celebration.

He retreats to his room instead, puts on his soft, light sleeping garments, washes and rolls up on his bed. _Consort_. He’s a Goddess’ son, he’s seen many lands and cities, met beautiful people and monsters so gorgeous merely looking at them can kill, and yet he’s never wanted to be claimed by anyone as much as by those two dark Gods with possessiveness and lust in the flash of their eyes.

But he can’t. Hunters, even those that are only half-mortal, need to keep their purity intact. The best hunters remain virgins, it’s an unwritten law that always holds true. His mother is the obvious exception, but she is also the Goddess.

No, there is no way that he can give in to their advances and keep the life he loves to live. In twenty years maybe, he might be ready to consider it, but he definitely isn’t now. Dean falls asleep with that resolve firmly set.

And dreams.

In his dream, there’s a magpie on the windowsill of his childhood room. It looks at him, tilts its head, but doesn’t make a noise.

“Hey Cas.” Dean smiles and follows it outside, climbing onto the roof. He walks, barefooted on the red tiles still warm with the day’s sun, and when he comes to the end of the building he jumps, expecting to fly.

He doesn’t, he falls, and huh, that’s weird, he can always fly in dreams, but then he’s caught by something fluffy, invisible, glimmering strings of blue catching on his body. One of them tickles his nose, and Dean giggles when he is gently lowered down onto the soft grass of his mother’s garden.

He follows the fluttering magpie, shadows strangely disorienting until they arrive, back in the small grove again. Starlight reflects in the pond, and when Dean steps nearer, a soft, cool summer night breeze hits him in the face, makes him blink. Insects are chirping, it smells like dew, his sleeping pants are soaking with the grass’ wetness, his sleeping pants, he put them on before he went to bed-

“This isn’t a dream.” Dean’s stomach turns to ice as soon as he hears his own voice say it out loud.

“No, it is not.” Castiel is behind him, his presence like feather tips on Dean’s naked back.

Something in the water moves.

It tints black, and then dots of colorful light appear. It’s a vision of a lazy, gigantic river, full of boats that are full of candles in all colours of the rainbow. Lights flicker, a garden appears under blue shining crystals, dark green vines growing over everything, their blossoms pale and luminescent. A ripple and Dean sees a palace, a throne room all black. Sam is sitting on the simple, gigantic chair of obsidian, small flames licking crimson light on his fingers, filling his eyes. He is looking at Dean.

“Come to us.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” Dean whispers.

“You will never want for anything.” Castiel promises and Dean thinks that the only thing he’d ever want for is them. But he can’t.

“Come to us, Dean.” Sam says again, and Dean has to take all of his discipline together to say no- he’s fuzzy, not sleep-drunk anymore but also not in possession of all his senses. He should maybe call for help…

“Help?”

“No, Dean. You are safe with us.” Castiel’s voice is a soothing rumble, Dean wants to lean into it.

“He- what are you- my head.” Dean grits it out through clenched teeth. Thinking is like walking through molasses. “You’re doing something to my mind-”

Castiel’s fingers brush over his neck, and Dean sags, and forgets what he just said. “I… I wanna go home.”

“This is your home now.” Castiel says with a smile in his voice. “Look at it, Dean.”

A chamber full of the most exquisite jewelry, the river again, another garden full of funny-shaped and glowing fungi, a bed chamber with a bed big enough for ten looking so inviting, an empty seat on the throne’s left, and then suddenly there’s the King, Sam, so close, just under the water’s surface, and Dean could touch him, only has to extend his arm, lower his hand…

“Come to us, Dean.” Sam smiles at him.

In the last second before his fingertips touch the water, Dean hesitates again, “No, I…”

Castiel nudges him, between his shoulder blades, only just a little, and his skin touches the water’s surface.

A strong hand catches his wrists, yanks him forward, down, through icy coldness, and Dean struggles, tries to fight, but there’s someone else’s weight on him, pushing him down, and Dean’s world goes black.

 

* * *

 

 

Soft. Cool, not cold, silk and the smell of- stone? Cave?

“Dean. Wake up.”

Dean’s eyelids flutter open to find a black canopy high above the bed he’s placed on. The room has dark walls, is only dimly illuminated by candles, some crystals in various colours, and Dean has seen it before... Next to the bed, there is Sam- _the Dark King_ , an urgent voice in the back of his mind corrects, and Castiel, _the Raven- they abducted me._

They are looking at Dean with utmost hunger, a dangerous kind of fascination and want in both their expressions that has Dean’s stomach clench in fear.

And then he realizes he’s naked. Unable to suppress a yelp, Dean sits up and pulls the sheets around him. “Where am I?”

“I think you know.” Sam replies, calm and friendly, and it does nothing to ease Dean’s racing heartbeat.

“You abducted me!”

“We brought you here, into our home.” Castiel corrects firmly. “Where you belong, Dean.”

“No. I belong with my family!” Dean growls and looks around for something to wear. “I’m going home.”

“You are home.” Sam says, gently patient in the most infuriating way.

Dean doesn’t bother to continue arguing, just draws the sheets closer around his hips and moves off the bed. “I don’t suppose you’re gonna tell me where the exit is.”

“There is no exit from this room for you, unless we will it so.” Castiel says, and the son of a bitch is right, because this room doesn’t have a door.

Dean bites his lip and suppresses the curse. He’s standing barefoot, all but naked in the bed chamber of two of the mightiest gods. Insulting them is probably not a smart thing to do right now.

“Look, I really don’t think this is going t-”

Castiel’s hand on his face, gently cupping his cheek, makes the beginning of Dean’s plea catch in his throat. “So beautiful.”

Dean knows it’s going to happen one moment before it does, but the feeling of the God’s lips against his still makes his heart skip a beat.

“You know the mortals call us Lords of the Gems because they’re too afraid to call us by our real names.” Sam’s voice weaves a net around his mind, catching all of Dean’s thoughts like stray fish. “Who better as our Consort than a golden child of the Gods with eyes brighter than the purest of all our jewels?” Dean’s head is swaying again, and then Sam is behind him, lips pressing against the nape of Dean’s neck, and Dean gasps.

Castiel uses the chance to lick into Dean’s mouth, hungry, slow and thorough, and when Dean finally manages to pull back, he is panting heavily. “Don’t. I don’t want to be your Consort.”

“You will, and we won’t have anyone but you.” Castiel declares lowly. Dean opens his mouth to protest again, but Sam catches Dean’s lips with his and then they push Dean onto the bed, and even if they didn’t possess the strength of Gods, Dean knows he wouldn’t stand a chance- Castiel alone maybe, but him and Sam-

Both of his wrists are caught, pulled up and pinned above his head, one by each of his abductors. Dean struggles in protest and immediately regrets it, because that only makes it easier for Castiel to pull away the little protection the sheets offered.

“Gorgeous.” Sam whispers against Dean’s lips, his knee pushing insistently between Dean’s thighs, and Castiel’s free hand is roaming down his stomach. Dean didn’t know that caresses can be greedy. He tenses, tries again to break out of their gentle iron grip, this is going much too fast. “Please, I don’t - _fuck!_ ”

Castiel’s hand, cool and strong and certain wraps around his half-hard cock, and the Raven God looks at him seriously. “You may be hesitant, but your body is responding to our touch.”

“Don’t worry. We will ensure that you enjoy yourself.” Sam’s promise causes Dean to struggle again, but when he tries to kick them, all caution be damned, he can’t. Something is weighing down his legs- blue magic, again, silken-light on his skin, creeping up his body.

“Please don’t.” His voice is hoarse, a trace of desperation he can’t withhold, because they don’t stop, they don’t care about his objections.

“Relax, Dean.” Sam’s lips are on his neck again, lapping on the skin as if he has all the time in the world to taste him. “You’re ours now, and you’ll be happier the sooner you give in.”

Dean wants to say something, a sharp retort, spiteful, something to let them feel his fury, but then Castiel tugs on his erection again, and then takes it in his mouth, and the pleasure twists through him like lightening. “Cas-”

He still can’t move either of his arms, now restrained by the same magic. Unfazed by Dean’s struggle not to make any noise, Castiel moves his mouth, steady and methodically up and down, the strokes of his tongue calculatedly tearing every clear thought from Dean.

Sam chuckles while he kisses his way down Dean’s neck, collarbone, chest, and then he takes Dean’s nipple between his teeth and bites, not firm but enough, and Dean can’t help but cry out.

“That’s right, let us hear you.” Sam mumbles, showering Dean’s nipples with licks and kisses of approval.

“Please, I can’t do this!” Dean begs sharply, but they don’t answer, neither of them interrupting what they’re doing to him. Sam’s lips and teeth leave marks on Dean’s skin, Castiel is licking along his cock, from tip to base, massaging Dean’s balls gently, and Dean wants to protest again, but one of the blue threads of energy gets sucked in by his sharp intake of air, ozone and drowsiness on his tongue, and Dean’s mouth goes slack.

He glares at them, the muscles of his neck fighting against the fake tiredness that pulls his head down. Sam looks up, and there is some twisted kind of pleased surprise in his golden eyes. “So strong. You’re perfect, Dean.” He shifts back up to kiss him, and for him, Dean’s lips move, open, and then Castiel sucks Dean’s balls into his mouth, and licks _lower_ , and the noise he makes this time, arching his back, is almost pure pleasure.

Sam laughs softly, pushes Dean down with his own weight, skin on skin sliding sweaty and hot, and the magic pries Dean’s thighs wider apart, exposing him completely while Castiel licks him open. It’s too much at once, bliss and panic and helplessness, overwhelming him completely.

Dean has never before been touched like this, never touched his hole even when he pleasured himself, and preferred exercise to get rid of tension. _Purity_. It’s essential, he’s a hunter born and raised. But not here, not to Sam and Castiel who claim him, change him, and Dean can’t fight it, even worse, he’s not completely sure he wants to, because despite all the guilt racing through him, what they do to him feels _good_.

Cas tongue wiggles against him, inside him, too wet and insistent to resist, and when he withdraws, Dean relaxes, which- mistake. Cas’ finger nudges at the wet ring of muscles, presses in easily, and Dean wants to twist away, protest, scream, kick, anything, and he _can’t_. Slowly, gently, Cas pushes his finger in and out of him, small circular motions, and he’s watching Dean with that intense stare, sucking in all his reactions.

“Please…” Dean manages between Sam’s kisses, and Castiel’s lips curve into a faint smile as he pulls his finger out. He has a small phial of something in his other hand, oil, glistening as he pours it over his fingers, and Dean can see exactly what he’s doing.

Stretching pain, his muscles protesting where he can’t, clenching against the intrusion of two fingers. Scissoring, the God moves a bit faster, growing subtly impatient, and the third finger comes too soon and Dean cries out because this hurts and it wasn’t meant to happen like this.

“Shh, we’ll make it better.” Sam promises and reaches down, taking Dean’s abandoned erection in his gentle hand. “Just relax and let it happen, Dean. You’re ours.” Kiss before Dean can answer, this isn’t even remotely fair, and then Sam’s thumb brushes over the crown of his cock and Cas crooks his fingers, and Dean jumps.

“You’re very tense.” Castiel observes, as if that’s Dean’s fault at all, and the blue-eyed God exchanges a long glance with Sam.

Whatever goes unsaid between them, it leads to Cas withdrawing his fingers, shifting his weight to come back up, and he latches onto Dean’s neck sucking bruises while they push him to lay on his stomach, half on Cas, caught between them.

Sam kneels behind him, nudges his thighs apart, takes Dean’s hips into a firm grip, and Dean knows what comes next and manages a protesting noise, muffled into Castiel’s chest.

“You’re ours.” Sam says again, dark and affectionate, his cock hot and thick running along Dean’s crack, teasing, nudging. His heat covers Dean’s back, covers Dean’s whole body, pressing him down without escape, and then Sam pushes in. Just the tip, burning, slow enough not to tear.

“So beautiful, Dean. Cas, he’s so tight.” Sam breathes heavily, small, urgent grunts as he works himself inside, into Dean who can’t suppress the soft sobs anymore. “So good, Dean.”

Fire, too much friction, too much warm, sweat, hurt inside, praise licked into the salt of his neck. Cas has one hand on Dean’s hips, one buried in Dean’s hair, tugging him in, and Dean’s mouth is lax for him, Dean is too occupied with struggling to breathe, trying to fight this in any way he can.

Sam bottoms out with a groan that is more animal than God, keeping himself still forcefully until the inner struggle begins to drain from Dean.

“Ours.” Castiel mouths against Dean’s throat with Sam’s first thrust. Sam’s hips move smooth, in a slow, even rhythm, calmly, systematically claiming, there’s no doubt who Dean belongs to now. Dean’s sob this time isn’t just pain, it’s helpless anger, because he’s not a virgin anymore, lost that forever.

“Fuck, Dean, you’re amazing, so tight and wet around me…” Sam showers him with low, searing praise as his movements gradually become faster, more forceful, fingers digging into flesh, the sound of skin on skin, slaps wet, quickly filling the nonexistent space between them, every single one rocking through Dean’s body, and there’s something, something that doesn’t feel entirely bad, a spark curling at the root of Dean’s cock-

“I’m going to come inside you.” The mumbled promise turns Dean’s insides to ice, and no, no, he cannot, can’t let that happen too, Sam can’t-

“Oh fuck, Dean!” Crushing weight on him, Dean feels it, four more hard, painful, desperate thrusts, and then there’s sticky, tingling warmth spilling in him and Sam growls, his teeth catching Dean’s neck.

“So good. Such a good boy for us…” Sam rolls off him, pulls out, and Dean’s hole is twitching sore, hurting in pulses.

“Please…” he doesn’t know what he’s begging for, now that he’s broken, used, needy, and Castiel shuts him up anyways, kisses him and twisting them around, pins his shoulders down into the mattress. Tendrils of blue move, pull Dean’s legs, knees up and apart like before, and “No, not…”

“Stop resisting.” Castiel orders, gravelly low and without a chance of objection. He shoves into Dean, easier but harsher, savage where Sam was patient, claiming Dean. Fucking him, hard, quick pace immediately, pain and stretch and friction flooding all of Dean again, and there is something he _wants,_ more and less, pain is not supposed to feel that good. Sam is nibbling on his earlobe, his fingers brushing over Dean’s mouth, dipping between his lips while Castiel takes possession of Dean’s body ruthlessly, like he owns Dean- because he owns Dean, he’s theirs now.

Hot, wet tears run down from the winkles of his eyes, down into his sweat soaked hair, leaving cool trails. Castiel leans down to lick them, never letting up the pace, his eyes piercing Dean’s soul. “You will give in.”

Dean can’t answer, and Castiel takes his mouth, ravaging with his tongue.

“So beautiful.” Sam whispers, awed and possessive of them both, his fingers gently running along Dean’s scalp. “Our Consort.”

“Ours.” Castiel agrees, growls when he comes hard inside Dean, pumping his release with stuttering thrusts.

Dean is breathing heavily, on edge but not beyond it, at least a beacon of control they didn’t take. When Castiel pulls out slowly, reluctant to do so and never stopping touching Dean, the magic that tied him down loosens, allowing Dean to turn away, bury his face into the pillow, all of him tense to hide the way he’s shaking.

“It’s all right, Dean.” Sam’s big hand strokes down his back, feeling the barely-there trembles, and then strong arms sling around Dean’s waist, and they shift close to him again, no room, just flesh on flesh as they hold him, tender now, lavishing him with sweet kisses Dean neither wants nor deserves. Dean has never felt so weak before.

Sam shifts his weight, sits up with his back against the bed’s headboard and pulls Dean into his lap like a doll. Dean lets him, his forehead buried against Sam’s neck now, and the God makes soft, soothing noises, all but cradling Dean in his arms. Something cool touches Dean’s shoulder, Castiel’s hand, stroking up to his neck, moving his head, and then the hard, smooth edge of a cup is pressed against Dean’s lips. Dean opens his mouth without thinking, and then there’s honey, sweet, heady wine flooding his mouth, dizzying, satisfying the thirst he hadn’t noticed.

Castiel is mellow and patient, coaxing Dean to swallow sip after sip until the cup is empty, and when he takes it away, the God leans in to lick the leftover drops from Dean’s lips, and it feels so nice. Castiel smiles at him, not widely, but true, fondness in his eyes Dean hasn’t seen before. “So good for us.”

The words ring true, confusing as they are, and while Dean is still wondering how they could sound so sincere, suddenly Sam’s fingers are on his lips, nudging them open. Dean’s licks impulsively to meet them and finds something small, round and glossy, and when he bites it, the sweet taste of fruit runs over his tongue. Pomegranate seed, very rare and delicious, and Dean’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Good?” Castiel asks, low amusement in his voice.

Dean nods, swallows. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the most gorgeous, pleasing boy I’ve seen in all my crossings of the earth.” Castiel replies solemnly, and he, too, offers Dean a pomegranate seed that Dean accepts without question.

“Cas and I waited a long time for a Consort. We were very lonely.” Sam mumbles into Dean’s hair and feeds him another of the small, ruby red pearls of fruit.

“But-” Dean devours it, greedy for the taste but hasty to speak “-why didn’t you- you should have asked me.” Even pliant and coddled as he is, that truth is still engraved in his mind.

“Dean.” The way Castiel says his name is reverent, scary in the raw need, and Castiel leans in to rest his forehead against Dean’s. “Dean, we couldn’t wait. You are so radiant, golden like the sun, and we need you so much, we forgot all patience.” He peppers Dean’s face with kisses like it’s something precious, cheeks, nose, forehead, jaw, and his cool fingers push another seed into Dean’s mouth, sweetness filling his senses again.

“Please forgive us, we frightened you in our eagerness. We’re never going to scare you like that again, never cause you harm. I swear.” Sam’s words float around him warmly, and then Castiel, softly and sure, palms his forgotten, still half-hard cock. Dean gasps in surprise at the sudden wave of pleasure, and Sam smiles, uses the opportunity to make Dean swallow another of the pomegranate seeds.

“So responsive. You were made for us, Dean.” Castiel speaks, words like a spell, drawing him in, and Dean knows it’s true. “Meant to be ours, our greatest treasure.” Castiel feeds Dean the sixth pomegranate seed while stroking him to full hardness, and Dean squirms in Sam’s arms, pushing his hips against the welcome touch. “Please, I need…”

“We know what you need.” Sam kisses Dean’s neck, teeth grazing skin ever so lightly, sending shivers down Dean’s spine while Castiel’s strokes become faster. “Tell me, who do you belong to, Dean?”

“Yours. I’m yours.” Dean rasps, doesn’t even think, just knows, and the resulting, low growls he gets in return push him almost all the way to the edge. “Please!”

“Come for us, Dean.” Cas’ voice is firm, sharp, exactly what Dean needs, and he spills himself all over the God’s hand that continues to stroke him through his orgasm, pulsing pleasure through his nerves.

“You’re gorgeous, Dean.” Sam mumbles when Dean sags heavily back into his arms, snuggling up against Sam’s broad chest. “More magnificent than anything I’ve seen.”

“You will be very happy.” Castiel says as they shift again, Sam and Cas curling up around Dean who relaxes between them, sated and reassured. “ _We_ will make you very happy.”

Dean lets their voices wash over him, warm and possessive and caring, and all of this is so new, unknown and strange to him, but it doesn’t feel bad, not at all, and with that feeling of security, he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“Sasquatch, Cassie, you messed up big this time. I’m not even joking.”

Trickster, bird of fire, messenger of Olympus, Gabriel is Castiel’s brother and infinitely more annoying than Crowley, sauntering through their throne room as if it belongs to him, reveling in his insolence. “Do you have any idea what you caused?”

“Dean was ours to claim. We captured and took him as our Consort, as it is our right.” Castiel says coldly.

“Yeah well, and if you had just taken any boy, nobody would care two hoots about it, but it just had to be the Son of the Huntress, right?” Gabriel stares at them unimpressed. “You know, the bear isn’t the Lady’s chosen animal for nothing. Never seen a more furious mother.”

“Then she should have protected Dean better.” Sam gives back curtly. He is one of the three mightiest Gods, mortals avert their eyes when they sacrifice to him for fear of meeting him too soon, but Gabriel is calm in face of his anger. “Oh come on now. You stole the boy less than a diaulos from his childhood home. From all I hear about him, I can’t imagine that he came out of his free will, either, am I right?”

“It does not matter how he came here. He is staying here because he wants to.” Castiel glares at his brother who shakes his head. “Hate to burst your bubble, bro, but it’s not that easy. You got any idea what’s going on upstairs?”

They don’t actually, having spent the last few weeks entirely with Dean- their realm is mostly peaceful and self-governing after all.

At the continued silence, Gabriel snorts. “Course not. I’ll give you the short version: The Goddess of the Hunt is on a rampage, crops are dying and animals everywhere are going nuts, all likely and unlikely beasts of prey are attacking anything they cross, and so on ad nauseam. Let’s just say, if nothing is done about this situation very, very soon, you can expect a huge population growth down here.”

“Dean is ours, the Underworld’s Consort!” Sam’s voice is thundering through the halls, through the whole dimension.

Gabriel lifts one eyebrow. “Well yeah, but the way you accomplished that feat still was admirably inelegant. Of course-” The Trickster smirks, eyes narrowing slightly. “I would not dare doubt that he is utterly happy here, wanting for nothing. I bet he never even gets nostalgic, what with all the rock and fungi, who needs sunshine? Nevermind his beloved steed and his childhood companions he’s never gonna see again. Yes, I’m quite sure he’s completely content. Right, Sam? Castiel?”

There’s a suffocating silence, and Gabriel’s smirk turns into a faint sneer. “That’s what I thought.”

“He just needs time to adjust.” Sam says, not as insistent as he could have been.

“Or maybe, you need to suck it up and ask the boy for his opinion?” Gabriel crosses his arms. “I know his mother isn’t giving in until she has him back, and you’re not gonna let anyone take away your chosen Consort. Two very understandable positions, diplomatic nightmare, bla bla. Think about this carefully, cause if this goes south, it could get really, really ugly for everyone.”

Sam and Castiel share a long look. Finally, they turn back to Gabriel, and Castiel speaks. “What do you suggest?”

Gabriel smiles widely. “How about a compromise?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Do not forget us.” Sam kisses Dean fiercely, crowding him against the wall of the cave.

“I won’t. Promise.” Dean replies, smiles at his lovers. “Besides, you’re gonna visit me when I sleep, right?”

“Yes. I will keep a careful eye on you.” Castiel says gravely. “Do not seek out unnecessary danger.”

“I’m a hunter, Cas. That’s what we do.” Dean laughs softly, elating happiness bubbling through him.

“If you are reckless, we will know, and we _will_ punish you.” Sam growls.

“That supposed to scare me?” Dean grins and meets his kiss halfway. When Sam lets go, Castiel is in his bird form, and with two short strokes of his wings, he sits down on Dean’s shoulder.

“Cas is accompanying you outside.” Sam commands, and Dean nods. Hesitantly, he steps back, lets go of Sam’s hand and starts walking towards the exit of the cave.

Just before he steps into the blinding rays of sunshine, he turns and looks back over his shoulder. “I’ll see you in six months.”

Sam’s eyes are glowing, little black flames dancing where a crown would be, and he looks dangerous, like temptation itself.

“We will be waiting.”

 


	4. twink Omega!Dean gets a new home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is sixteen and reluctantly in the system. Gabriel is his dedicated caseworker. Sam and Cas are the bonded alphas looking for a mate who make a habit of exceeding Dean's expectations. 
> 
> Pure, toothrotting, unadulterated fluff and Hurt/Comfort. This is really just a poor excuse to write omega!Dean being taken care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentioned attempted Rape. Mentions of minor Character Death. Dean is sixteen, so there's technically Underage sex involved
> 
> I know virtually nothing about cars and pulled it all out of my ass.

“Hey kiddo. Sorry I took so long.”

It’s the middle of the night, clouds hiding stars outside, the pale silhouette of the moon teasing through the bars of the window. Dean sits in the corner of his cell (room) farthest from the door that has just been opened to let his beta of a caseworker in. Gabriel looks him over, badly concealed worry twitching through his expression.

“How you holdin’ up?”

“Peachy.” Dean sneers, glares and pulls his knees a little closer to his chest. “Not my first rodeo, you know.”

Something like anger flickers over Gabriel’s face.

“I suspected. Not that much to actually _know_ about you, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean is slow, tired and lost, and he fails to hide his surprise properly. There’s no smugness on Gabriel’s face at least, only vague relief that he finally has Dean’s real name, and he steps nearer cautiously.

“Alright, so at least we have a file for you now.”

“I don’t need a fucking file.” Dean growls.

Gabriel sighs. “I see how you’d come to think that, given tonight. I’m truly sorry. Walker was a creeper, but nobody thought he’d try to-”

“Cut the bullshit, you don't even believe it yourself.” Dean points out. “Most people would agree with what he did.”

“No.” Gabriel’s eyes become flintstone sharp, unusually hard for a beta. “Walker’s getting locked up, if it’s the last thing I do, you have my word on that.”

Dean snorts. “You can’t rape an unclaimed Omega, and he didn’t even succeed.”

“You’re a ward of the state and a minor under protection.” Gabriel gives back, and it’s kind of odd seeing someone care more about Dean’s rights than Dean himself.

“Hasn’t done me much good until now, has it?” Dean sneers.

There’s true guilt on Gabriel’s face, oddly touching, and Dean has to remind himself that he doesn’t have any fucks left to give about other people’s feelings.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, kiddo.” Gabriel says solemnly. “I have your name now, I can-”

“I don’t want a mate.” Dean interrupts him.

It’s not like he has much of a choice in the matter, but at least he can say it out loud like the unruly, bratty bitch that he is. He’s not fifteen anymore, too old to get adopted, but old enough to be bred. The only thing Walker did wrong was not filling out the proper paperwork first.

“I’m sorry. It’s the only option since you don’t have any living relatives. Trust me, you don’t wanna end up in a state-run facility.” Gabriel tells him, calm and sympathetic, need to coddle the poor omega’s feelings.

“I got by fine on my own.” Dean says, because he has to, pride is all he has left.

“You collapsed in a parking lot under suppressant overdose.” Gabriel retorts, flat now.

Dean shrugs. “Still beats rotting in the system.”

“Kid, you’re sixteen. You have your life ahead of you.” The beta tries, gotta hand it to him.

Dean kind of wants to know what made the small man so passionate about his job, but then again, who cares.

“Some life.” He can’t help the bitterness seeping into his voice.

Used as a sextoy, broodmare and free domestic aid. Terrific.

Gabriel sighs. “I’ll do what I can for you, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t answer, and the caseworker leaves. The steel door falls shut behind him with a thud of finality.

* * *

 

 

“Good morning, sweetie.”

Dean gives Nurse Pamela the finger when she wakes him- it’s not that he doesn’t like her, but she knows he can’t stand the omega-coddling bullshit, and grins at him unbothered.

“Rise and shine, Deano.”

He sits up on the hard cot and is handed a file with his name on it.

“Your tests came in this morning.” The nurse explains unasked, and because she isn’t talking to him like he’s a five-year old, Dean doesn’t even glare at her.

“And?”

“Got your hormones in a mess, pretty boy.” Pamela explains with pursed lips. “Any longer on the suppressants and they would’ve killed you.”

“Well, those that don’t kill you aren’t in my price range.” Dean says casually and she narrows her eyes.

“Well, now _any_ kind of suppressants would do the trick, so I better don’t hear about you popping anything but Tylenol for the next five years.”

Dean huffs as he leafs through the file, and Pamela smiles.

“The good news is, other than the ban on suppressants, you’re completely fine, likely no lasting damage at all.”

“Shit.”

That’s not good news, not in Dean’s book at least, he had hoped for something, anything that would make him unattractive for claiming, but from the looks of it, Pamela isn’t done talking.

“And since you have the medical all-clear, Gabriel has found someone for you. You’re meeting them today.”

She looks at Dean expectantly and frowns when she doesn’t get the reaction she hoped for- Dean’s stomach turns to ice, and he clutches the file tighter.

“When?”

“You should get dressed now.” The nurse says, gently encouraging. “Don’t be nervous, Gabriel would never put you with someone he doesn’t trust.”

Dean doesn’t reply, focuses on breathing, because this is going way too fast and there is nothing he can do to prevent it. He’s an omega, he’s supposed to rejoice at the chance of a home and mates to serve, and he’s gonna throw up. Yep, he’s throwing up, barely makes it to the toilet in the corner of the room, and Pamela coos and holds his head, and he has to take care not to shove her away too violently.

“Fuck off.”

“Calm down Dean, I promise you will be alright.” She’s not even mad, who could be mad at a poor little omega whose overwhelming hormones have him in jitters.

“Fuck. Off.”

With a sigh, Pamela leaves. Dean takes five minutes to calm down, level his breathing, and then gets up, rinses out his mouth and gets dressed in the light blue, hideous omega jumpsuit. Half an hour later, they come to get him and he never sees the cell again.

* * *

 

 

“Of course, the ankle monitor will have to remain in place until we are completely certain that the omega is emotionally stable.”

Adler is an asshole, almost as much as Walker was, talking above Dean’s head as if they weren’t sitting at the same table.

“How long will that be?” One of the _two_ alphas across from him asks, in a deep, gravelly voice that makes every hair on Dean’s neck stand.

He has refused to look up until now, unwilling to face the reality of this situation. Two alphas, bonded already, looking for someone to breed, of course.

“Oh, about one to two years, depending.” Adler says smugly.

Gabriel clears his throat. “I’ll drop in, weekly in the beginning and monthly later, and we’ll base it on the evaluations.”

“Good.” The other alpha says, a slight impatience in his tone that affects the whole room. “Anything else?”

“I suggest you knot the omega as soon as possible, since he has a rather unruly temper. His heat should hit any day now.”

Dean’s throat tightens and he feels like something disgusting, oily is running down his back- Adler went through his medical records as if he had any right, and talks about-

“I suggest you keep your suggestions to yourself in the future.” The second alpha replies, calm voice dropped to chills, and the rest of the room is deadly silent.

There is the faint shuffle of paper, two scratches of pen, and then the first alpha speaks again:

“Thank you for your time. Gabriel, I will call you later today.” It’s as obvious as dismissals ever get, and Adler shuffles out of the room indignantly.

Gabriel stays for a moment longer, puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, kiddo, alright?”

Dean doesn’t answer, just continues to stare at the table. Gabriel sighs, presses his shoulder once more and then he leaves, too.

The chair makes an ugly scratching noise on the linoleum floor, and then the second alpha walks around the table and lowers himself next to Dean. He’s so tall that even like that, he’s still eye to eye with him, and his voice is soft now.

“Dean? Look at me?”

It’s not an order, no alpha-authority behind it, and that’s what makes Dean turn his head. Warm hazel eyes meet his. _Handsome_. Is his first thought, followed by _Giant_.

“I’m sorry we have to meet like this. I’m Sam, and this is my husband Castiel.”

“You may call me Cas if you prefer.”

The first alpha says, and Dean allows his gaze to flicker over to him. The other man’s eyes are blue, hair black and tie straight, and he’s just as good-looking as Sam. He smiles at Dean, relaxed and calm.

Expectantly, they both look at Dean for a long moment, and finally Dean gives them an awkward, hesitant “Hi.”.

“From what Gabe told us you had a rough few months.” Sam says.

Dean blinks at him confused.

“Would you be alright with leaving now?”

Okay, what kind of weird-ass alphas are they, and why are they asking for an omega’s opinion?

Dean shrugs, because he has no idea what to say, and being vague is always safer when in doubt.

“Alright, come on then.”

Sam offers Dean his hand. Dean takes it, because that’s obviously what he’s expected to do, and stands up when Sam does. Better to be docile for now, until he finds a way to get rid of the thing on his ankle and hitch a ride to somewhere far, far away.

The two alphas accompany him along the neon lit hallways of the Omega Care Centre, the official part of the building Dean has never seen before. They stop at an office attached to the vaults where a grudging bureaucrat beta hands them the duffel bag of Dean’s possessions he never thought he’d see again. He’s pretty surprised when neither Sam nor Castiel make a move to carry the bag for him, and when they stop in front of a small locker room down the hallway, Dean looks at them confused.

“If you want to change into your own clothes, now would be an opportune moment.” Castiel opens the door of the room- it's pretty small, obviously meant for this very purpose.

There is nothing Dean wants more than to get out of the hideous blue thing he’s wearing, so he doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Neither of the two alphas protest when he locks the door behind him, and in return, Dean hurries to put on his own jeans, t-shirt and the old plaid he inherited from Dad.

When he opens the door hesitantly, Sam types something on his cellphone and Castiel is looking out of the window, neither of them bored or in any hurry. They both smile at Dean easily, and Dean swallows. Not knowing what to say is a reoccurring problem here.

“Um, I’m done?”

“Then let’s get out of here.” Sam says.

This time around, it’s Castiel who offers his hand, and Dean takes it despite the fact that their behaviour is confusing as fuck- alphas are supposed to be handsy, possessive, especially when they’re claiming a new omega. They should have at least scented him, and Dean knows for a fact that there are knotting rooms in this facility for those who can’t wait. Oh well, Sam and Castiel are probably the private sort, they seem classy like that. That means they’re gonna wait until they’re home, which is at least better than doing it here.

“Are you hungry, Dean?” Castiel asks him as they make their way out and Dean silently vows that he’s never gonna see this fucking building from the inside again.

“A bit.” He admits.

“Did you have breakfast?” Sam wants to know, and Dean shakes his head hesitantly. “Then let’s go and grab a bite. Would you like that?”

Dean has no idea what kind of face he’s making right now, but the corners of Sam’s lips twitch. Dean nods.

“You know, you can talk to us. If you want to.” Castiel says.

“About what?” Dean asks.

Shit. Too cheeky, alphas don’t like attitude, fuck-

“Anything.” Sam shrugs. “Though we understand that you need some time. How do you feel about diner food?”

“It’s fine?” Dean says carefully.

He loves diner food, and all he ever got in the centre was low-sodium, vegetable-heavy food to keep the omegas healthy and attractive. Fuck, he really misses diner food.

“Good.” Castiel says.

They approach a light beige, utterly ugly hybrid in the parking lot, and Sam must’ve noticed something in Dean’s expression, because he sighs.

“It’s not a Lamborghini, but it has an awesome fuel-efficiency.”

“That doesn’t make the colour any less hideous.” Castiel remarks casually and Dean can’t suppress a soft snort.

He tenses immediately and relaxes when Sam’s only reaction is another heavy sigh.

“Sue me. It gets you from A to B.”

He unlocks the car and Dean automatically goes for the backseat, opens the door for himself. Sam and Castiel let him, and a minute later, Sam drives them to his and Castiel’s favourite diner.

The smell when they step inside makes Dean’s stomach rumble, and he looks at the two alphas embarrassed, but both of them just smile some more, and the prospect of food is enough to distract Dean from how irritating that is. They sit down across from him, casual and patient, and Dean marvels at the surrealism of this situation.

“Welcome! What can I do for you today?” The approaching waiter asks with a wide, fake smile, pen hovering over his notebook.

“We’ll have the big Caesar’s salad and the Burger special of the day with a portion of extra large fries and two cokes.” Castiel says. “What would you like, Dean?”

The waiter’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise- omegas don’t usually order for themselves. Dean only takes a moment to wrestle down his surprise- is there anything his alphas do by the book?

“The double bacon cheeseburger and fries, please.” Dean says.

“Drink?” Sam reminds him.

“And a coke.” If he had any grasp of the situation at all, Dean would consider trying to order a beer, just to see the alphas’ reaction, but he doesn’t feel very daring right now.

“A good choice. The bacon burger is excellent.” Castiel remarks, as if that exchange just now hadn’t been weird at all.

He and Sam proceed to idly chat about favourite meals, occasionally ask Dean things in an obvious, if incomprehensible effort to include him in the conversation.

When the waiter comes with their orders, Dean can’t help but inhale the food, barely suppressing moans of pleasure because fuck, that’s what months of omega-fit food will do to a guy. Castiel and Sam leave him to it, and when the waiter returns and Sam orders three sundaes and three pieces of pecan pie, Dean is starting to think his alphas have mind reading powers.

“You’re being really nice.” Dean says quietly and is surprised at himself right afterwards- he knows better than to address alphas unasked.

“No offense, but you look like you could use some nice.” Sam gives back, with an easy bluntness that Dean is starting to anticipate.

“Why?”

“For various obvious reasons.” Castiel replies. “First and foremost because it is the decent thing to do when you meet someone new.”

“I’m an omega.” Dean says, just in case they missed his scent and forgot to read the mating documents and didn’t listen to a word Adler said.

“Yes. And we would like to be your alphas.” Castiel gives back.

 _What?_ Everything about that sentence is completely fucked up.

Dean bites his lip, and then decides to address the elephant in the room openly, just so he can say he tried.

“You don’t have to do that. You already bought me.”

Sam winces and Castiel narrows his eyes.

“Who told you that?”

“That you bought me?” Dean shrugs. “Everyone knows what mating state-ward omegas means.”

“No.” Sam shakes his head. “Who told you that you’re a thing to be bought without the right to be treated like any other person?”

Okay. So Dean is staring, but he can’t help it. Sam didn’t look that stupid, but first impressions can deceive.

“You’re kidding me.”

“We are not kidding you.” Castiel says gravely, his eyes boring into Dean’s to fix him with an uncomfortable stare.

“I’m an omega.” Dean says again, for lack of better explanation. It should be all the explanation two alphas would need.

“We’re aware of that.” Sam says, an undertone of amusement in his voice. “That doesn’t mean we have any right to assume what you want.”

After about half a minute or so, Dean remembers to shut his mouth. Castiel clears his throat.

“I know you haven’t had many favourable encounters with alphas or the system in your life, Dean. We’re aware you will need some time to adjust to the idea, but I assure you that Sam and I will do our best to respect you as a person.”

“… You’re nuts.” Dean says flatly.

Gabriel set him up with two insanely delusional alphas. If he ever sees the beta again, he’s gonna kick the man’s ass into next Tuesday.

Sam, completely unperturbed by his insolence, grins and dips a spoon full of pecan pie into his ice-cream.

“Your dessert’s melting.”

This has to be a scheme. Some elaborate ruse to make Dean believe the alphas who bought him are decent people. There is no such thing as a decent alpha, Dean learned that in various hard ways. They probably think he’s gonna roll over and present as soon as he trusts them a little, or they like mind games. Something like that.

For the moment, all Dean can do is eat up and enjoy the food because he doesn’t know when he’ll get the next chance to eat like this, and whatever they have in store for him, he’s likely gonna need the energy. Sam and Castiel are both calm, content and friendly and constantly attentive in a weird, unpatronizing way. They finish their meal and Sam pays, and when they walk back to the car, the alphas stay close to Dean without looming- it’s kind of relaxing actually, because this way he doesn’t have to constantly watch his back, because all other alphas will accept that he is taken.

They drive home in silence, only the pop station that Sam turns on provides some background noise. Dean is busy looking out of the window, to memorize the route they take and catalogue his new surroundings. His alphas’ house is the rich American suburb cliché incarnate, neat lawn and picket fence inclusive. The property is pretty big, the neighbouring houses are in view, but only barely, behind lines of neatly trimmed pine trees.

“Welcome home.” Sam says, and damn, he’s a pretty good actor, his tone is completely gentle.

Once again, neither of them even offers to carry Dean’s bag, and Dean is just too content with that.

The house inside is just as big and fancy as the outside, dark wooden floors and high walls, modern and reeking of money, and why did nobody warn Dean that his alphas are loaded?

“Do you like it?” Castiel asks.

Dean nods slowly. “Is it- is anyone else living here except the two of you?”

“You are, now.” Castiel replies and nods towards the stairs. “Let me show you your room.”

Okay, so Dean gets a room. That’s something at least. In some conservative households, omegas still sleep on the floor of the master bedroom, without blankets if they misbehave, Dean knows that for a fact.

The room that Castiel shows him though, is large, sun-flooded, one wall painted in a friendly yellow. There are two empty bookshelves on the wall next to a desk, and there’s a cupboard and a slightly smaller door. And a bed, large, but obviously not meant for more than one person, with cream white linens and pillows that look altogether too fluffy.

“The door leads to your bathroom. We put some basic items in there, but if you’d like, we can go shopping tomorrow and you can chose your own.” Castiel says.

Surreal, all of this. Dean nods and puts down the duffel bag at the foot of his bed, and is at a complete loss of what to do. Luckily, Castiel seems to have developed a sixth sense for these situations, and when the alpha offers to show Dean around the rest of the house, he gladly agrees, because scoping out this place can only be smart.

On the way past the three guest bedrooms and downstairs, Dean learns that Castiel and Sam met at University and got mated within six months, to both their families’ dismay. Sam is twenty-seven and a junior partner at some big, fancy-ass law firm. Castiel is twenty-nine and the youngest Professor at the faculty for Literature at Stanford.

They were young when they got hitched, but now they want a family, hence Dean’s being here. Sam’s an only child and Castiel’s family is old and rich, Dean figures from Castiel’s explanations, which is why they can afford this giant house.

There’s a pool, a library, an enormous TV in a living room four times as big as the motel rooms Dean spent his childhood in. What kind of reality show did he end up in here? He swears some Kardashian is about to jump around the next corner.

The tour ends in front of a door down the hallway that also houses Dean’s bedroom, and without having to be told, Dean knows that it’s Castiel and Sam’s bedroom- their scents, that subtly own the entire house, are breathtaking prominent here. Not in a bad way, just dominant, clean, tangy male alpha.

“Sam and I sleep here.” Castiel informs him unnecessarily and steps inside the room.

Dean hesitates, because this is it, this is what he knew would happen from the moment Pamela told him he was sold. His alphas were ridiculously nice to him, and now they expect him to comply in return.

With a heavy swallow, Dean tells himself that it could be worse- Castiel and Sam both seem kind enough, they probably won’t hurt him intentionally.

Sam currently leans over a small desk with a laptop on it, typing with quick, fluent fingers, but he looks up when Dean hesitantly steps into the bedroom.

“Have you seen the whole house?”

“Yeah. It’s nice.” Dean says, fights so his voice doesn’t waver.

He forces his hands not to shake when he moves them to take off his plaid shirt- the more compliant he is, the better, right? The moment the fabric leaves the skin of his arms bare, he feels naked, even though he’s only lost one layer of clothing, but he can’t let that deter him.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks him, not exactly sharp, but firm enough to make Dean freeze completely.

“Undressing?” He guesses carefully, because he can’t be fucking this up already, he’s not even naked yet and still manages to displease his alphas and-

“Do you want to undress?” Sam looks at him earnestly.

Is that some kind of trick question? Dean thinks about an answer too long, because Sam just nods, and then crosses the room with a knowing expression.

“You think we’re gonna rape you.”

“S’not rape.”

 _You bought me_. Dean doesn’t say the second part out loud, remembers how the two alphas reacted the first time he voiced that truth.

“It wouldn’t be called rape in court, but that doesn’t make it right.” Sam disagrees.

He’s two feet away from Dean, looks down at the omega, and God knows how, he manages not to look threatening.

“May I touch you, Dean?”

What a stupid fucking question. Of course Sam can touch him, Dean is his omega, and somehow he thinks he might even not hate it completely.

Dean nods, and Sam takes another careful step closer, and then the alpha pulls Dean into a loose, warm hug, his long arms safely around Dean’s smaller frame. Dean comes to rest his forehead against Sam’s broad chest and drowns in his alpha scent, soap, paper, wood and something else, and technically Dean knows that it’s pheromones that calm the worry and nervousness nagging on his mind, but like this, he can’t help but relax.

He doesn’t even flinch when Castiel’s presence is suddenly behind him, so close he can feel the warmth that radiates from the second alpha’s body, and then Castiel’s hands carefully, gently touch Dean’s shoulders.

“Is this okay?”

The alpha’s voice goes straight through Dean’s body, and he nods into Sam’s shirt and allows Castiel to embrace him as well. Huh. It feels nice, giving someone explicit permission to touch. It makes all of it more real, somehow.

“Can we sit down?” Sam asks next, nods towards the bed.

“Sure.” Dean gives his assent and is gently guided along.

Now they’re both touching him, in the way Dean expected from the beginning, but they’re pretty reverent about it, and unexpectedly respectful, no groping him or anything. They pull Dean to sit on the edge of the bed between them, legs draped over Castiel’s, half sitting in Sam’s lap and leaning against the taller alpha.

“May we scent you, Dean?” Castiel asks, soberly and formal. “You do not have any obligation to agree.” he adds before Dean can reply.

“I’m okay with scenting.” Dean answers carefully.

“Good, because it is all we are going to do.” Sam informs him, and weirdly enough, Dean believes him. “The moment you feel crowded or uncomfortable, I want you to tell us. Do you understand me?”

Now there’s the alpha-undertone, for the first time, leaving Dean practically no other choice but to obey.

“Yeah. I- will.”

“Good boy.” Sam says, and Dean shivers ever so slightly under the praise, goosebumps racing down his back.

Castiel’s hand touches the side of Dean’s face then, thumb ever so faintly stroking over Dean’s cheekbone, and Castiel smiles at him again, like Dean is something special.

“You smell very good, Dean.”

From anyone else, that would be super creepy, but the blue-eyed alpha somehow pulls it off, and it makes Dean blush.

“Um, thanks?”

Sam chuckles softly, and then moves, and the alpha’s nose touches the back of his neck. His noise of agreement sends another shiver down Dean’s spine.

“A bit like flowers.”

“And hot chocolate.” Castiel mumbles as he leans in, nudges Dean’s throat and inhales deeply.

Dean’s heart is racing and he has to swallow heavily because this feels so much better than he expected, and when both alphas shift closer to him, his hands find theirs, resting intertwined on his hips. They take his smaller hands between theirs, warmth seeping into his skin, fingers stroking over his wrists with slow, soft movements.

“We’re not gonna hurt you.” Sam whispers the words into Dean’s hair, his dry lips brush faintly over the shell of Dean’s ear, and Dean can’t help but lean into the touch, relax a bit more into their embrace, because if they do everything like this, he doesn’t care what they want from him, he won’t be able to refuse them anyways.

“How do you feel?” Castiel asks, while his thumb circles the pulse point on Dean’s wrist, a gentle tease.

“Good.” Dean hesitates. “Better than before.”

He doesn’t say safe, not yet, but it’s on the tip of his tongue.

“Kinda grateful.”

“You do not owe us anything.” Castiel pulls back a little to emphasize the words with a serious stare, and Dean wants the warmth of the alpha’s breath on his skin again.

“Okay.” He whispers and then lifts his chin slightly, offers his throat, an invitation that makes the alpha’s pupils widen.

Castiel moves, touches the smoothly shaved skin of his cheek to Dean’s neck, and Sam makes a low, rumbling noise of approval that vibrates against Dean’s back, and yeah, maybe Dean is a bit too far gone because he can’t suppress the soft, needy whimper- their touch feels good and his omega instincts want more.

They still, stop all movement for a very long moment, until they simultaneously pull back. Sam exhales a bit more forceful than necessary and there is a well-concealed gleam in Castiel’s eyes as he observes Dean closely.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Dean says.

He tries to hide his sudden, completely irrational annoyance at the loss of touch. The room’s air is way too cool on his skin now.

“Would you be content with repeating this daily until we’ve grown accustomed to each other?” Sam asks, voice perfectly neutral.

“Do I look discontented to you?” Dean almost rolls his eyes, only catches himself in the last moment, and fuck, he’s said something disrespectful again, he really needs to get a grip on that.

“Not as discontented as earlier.” Castiel answers.

“You can stop freaking out anytime you speak your mind, you know.” Sam says observantly. “We don’t take stock in omega submissiveness, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Still processing that.” Dean bites his lip and Castiel looks away, pulls his hands away from Dean’s.

“We should continue this in the afternoon. Right now, you should take some time to get settled in your room.”

They really don’t want to knot him. They’re not gonna knot him today, and maybe not even tomorrow. What the ever bloody fuck? And why the hell is Dean almost disappointed when he returns to his own room?

The rest of the day passes in relative quiet- Sam and Castiel have both taken two weeks off from work to help their omega settle in, but they leave Dean mostly alone except to fetch him for a late lunch and dinner, sandwiches and spaghetti Carbonara with an entirely too healthy tomato salad Sam insists Dean should try.

After dinner, Castiel has him pick a movie out of an admittedly impressive blue-ray collection. Dean chooses the Lord of the Rings Extended version, because he never got to see the movies, and they sit down on the large leather couch with a bowl of popcorn, the alphas on either side of him.

They start out with a decent distance, but as the movie progresses, Dean kind of slumps against Castiel, and when Sam changes discs and returns, he pulls Dean’s legs across his lap before draping a blanket over them.

And somewhere in the middle of the second movie, Dean falls asleep and only wakes when Sam carries him through the hallway upstairs, into his room. And then his alphas bid him good night, softly close the door, and Dean is left to put on his one set of pyjamas and curl up in the softest bed he’s ever known, alone.

* * *

 

 

The second day starts out as unlikely as the first ended. When Dean wakes up in his new room, he’s convinced that he’s somehow still dreaming for a solid ten minutes, until Castiel politely knocks on the door and tells him that Sam made breakfast.

After they demolish a mountain of pancakes, Dean insists on helping clean up, because he has to feel like he’s useful for something at least. After a moment’s hesitation, Sam lets him, shows him where everything in the kitchen belongs.

It is a rather nice kitchen, Dean notes, any hobby cook’s wet dream, and he wonders if Sam and Cas would let him cook some time if he asked nicely, or if they share the common opinion that knives and hot surfaces are not meant for omegas.

“If you go and get dressed, we can drive to the mall and make some purchases.” Castiel tells him afterwards, so Dean goes and showers and puts on his other pair of clean jeans and second-favourite t-shirt.

It’s warm today, he’d probably sweat if he went for a plaid shirt as well. They drive to the nearest shopping mall in Sam’s hideous hybrid, and though Dean can’t help feeling uncomfortable at the thought of someone else buying him essentially a new wardrobe and whatnot, he still has to marvel at the continuous weirdness of his alphas.

They ask his opinion on everything, not only clothes, which is a pleasant surprise, but also what to get for lunch in the food court and what kind of body wash and shampoo he prefers.

He sees other omegas, but few of them are talked to as casually by their alphas as he is. Most of them always walk two steps behind their alphas and betas in a properly subdued manner, and some of them even are collared, led on leashes.

He gets nasty glances from people anytime he talks openly to Sam and Castiel, but both of them seem to have a very good instinct for when to step into the meanest glares to shield Dean, and one time Dean even catches Castiel coolly staring a flustered, furious beta into angry submission.

They return home in the early afternoon, laden with clothes, two pairs of shoes, three new jackets and even four books that Dean semi-voluntarily picked at the bookstore.

His alphas didn’t exactly order him to chose them, even though it was where he had intended to draw the line of financial spending on his behalf, but they simply had ambled around the store and refused to leave. They stubbornly encouraged Dean to look for something to fill the empty bookshelves in his room, until Dean finally caved because he was getting impatient.

He’s barely done sorting through his new possessions and putting away those clothes that don’t need washing, when he hears the house’s doorbell for the first time. A moment later, Sam calls for him from downstairs.

It’s Gabriel, with a clipboard, pen and a lollipop in the corner of his mouth, and he eyes Dean carefully, even leans in to scent him for a short moment.

“Hey Deano. What’s up?”

“I’m okay.” Dean says, and it’s true, even a bit of an understatement, though he steadfastly refuses to acknowledge that out loud.

“You already look better than you did yesterday.” Gabriel agrees with a nod and then grins. “Samsquatch and Cassie been behaving themselves, I gather?”

“Of course we did.” Castiel says, and Dean can’t suppress the smile when he nods.

“Yeah. They’re- nice.”

“I should hope so, otherwise I’d have to kick their ass.”

Gabriel’s eyes sparkle with mischief and Dean frowns and looks at his alphas. Castiel looks rather resigned, and there’s a small, fond smile playing around Sam’s lips.

“You know each other?”

“You could say so.”

Gabriel snickers and Castiel sighs.

“Gabriel is my older brother.”

“What?” Dean looks at Gabriel incredulously.

The beta just shrugs. “I know, hard to believe we share the same genes seeing as I’m so much more handsome. Now, there was talk of cake on the phone, I believe?”

Castiel leads them into the kitchen where they sit down at the table for coffee, or green tea in Sam’s case, and chocolate cream cake. It’s not entirely as good as pie, but still more than decent, and Dean eats two slices while his alphas both give an account of what happened since they left the facility yesterday morning.

Gabriel writes it all down and then asks Dean for comments, but since Sam and Castiel were pretty detailed, down to slightly embarrassing descriptions of exact touches during the scenting, there is nothing to add except for how he slept really well.

“Well, looks like you’re getting along just fine. I knew your scents were compatible.” Gabriel says satisfied. “When would you like me to visit again?”

It takes Dean a moment until he notices that both Sam and Castiel as well as Gabriel are looking at him for an answer.

“Um, I don’t know. When did you plan to?”

“Standard would be in one week, but I can drop by more often.” Gabriel says.

“You’re welcome whenever you want, you know that.” Sam comments.

Dean thinks it over for a moment.

“I think one week would be okay.”

“Alright then.”

Gabriel smiles at him and ruffles his hair, and true to form, Dean huffs in annoyance. The beta stays for a little while longer, and then leaves, and when Sam suggests ending the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Dean agrees.

They spend the afternoon and evening curled up on the couch again, start as close as they ended yesterday, and both alphas unhurriedly continue to scent Dean throughout the movies. It’s eleven when the third movie finally ends, and this time around Dean walks upstairs by himself, tells Sam and Castiel goodnight from his door shyly.

* * *

 

 

On the third day in Sam and Castiel’s house, Dean wakes up to a dry mouth and wetness between his legs. He’s burning up, way too warm despite the fact that he kicked the sheets off the bed during the night. And then the panic sets in.

He knew this was gonna happen, ignored and suppressed all thoughts about it, because however gentle and patient his alphas were before, the moment they smell him like that, they’re gonna go into the reactionary rut that is triggered by fertile omega pheromones.

Gabriel said that their scents are compatible, which means Sam and Cas are only gonna need a whiff of him to go mad, and fuck, Dean’s gonna get his first knot during a heat, he’s gonna get pregnant and if he’s unlucky, he won’t even remember it happening.

He whimpers, clutches his pillow and pulls his knees to his chest, the position close enough to presenting to feel natural.

“Dean?”

Castiel knocks politely and then opens the door, and shit, this is it.

Only, he isn’t instantly tackled down into the mattress by someone else’s weight.

“Oh.” Castiel says instead, and a shy glance from the pillow shows his frown, squinting.

“I will fetch Sam and inform him of the circumstances. I’ll be right back.”

Dean’s brain is too scrambled to immediately catch Castiel’s meaning, especially when he gets a trace of Castiel’s alpha scent, ozone and sallow thorn, and his blood starts to burn in response. But this is strange, Castiel should be all over him right now, biting and claiming according to what Dean knows.

It seems like a small eternity to Dean until Castiel returns with Sam.

Sam steps into the room and then he says: “Oh Dean.”, gentle and affectionate and not feral at all.

Dean can smell his own slick and sweat filling the air, it mixes with the alpha scents in a cocktail that makes his insides cramp with need, hurts in vicious little pulses that race through his body, and how on earth are Sam and Cas not ravishing him right now?

Fingers card through his hair, Castiel strokes his head like Dean’s delicate and breakable. Dean arches his neck to press against the touch and makes a soft pleading noise that he knows is pathetic.

“Do you want to be left alone?” that’s Sam, sitting down on the other side of the bed.

The mere suggestion makes Dean’s instincts flare with need.

“No!” he rasps and reaches for Sam blindly with one hand while he clutches Castiel’s wrist with the other.

His alphas comply to the unspoken request and shift closer, pull Dean into a half sitting position between them, and Dean clings to Castiel like a kraken and uses his weight to lean them both against Sam, and it soothes some of the raging want inside just to have them that close.

“Alright, so we’ll stick with you.” Sam talks in a low, reassuring voice while his hands stroke up and down Dean’s back, slow and patient in a way that should be impossible.

“How are you not in a rut right now?” Dean whispers into the hollow of Castiel’s throat, while he rubs his face against the faint stubble there.

“Since you are prohibited from using suppressants, Sam and I decided to take them instead.” Castiel explains and _what?!?_

Dean pulls back reluctantly, looks up into the alpha’s eyes in shock. Castiel’s pupils are blue, blown wide under the influence of pheromones, but not tinged red like they would be in a rut and _what the bloody fuck?_

“You went on alpha-suppressants for –me?”

“They have considerably less byeffects than omega-suppressants. Don’t worry.” Sam says and fuck, what the hell, Dean’s completely out of his depth.

What kind of alpha prefers popping pills to knotting an unclaimed omega in heat?

Sam and Cas apparently. His alphas.

“Tell us what you need, Dean.” Sam orders lowly, and yeah, Dean is completely done for, and he doesn’t even feel bad about what he says next.

“You. Need you to fuck me.”

Cas inhales sharply, and Sam tenses slightly in his back, and then Cas kisses him, chastely close-lipped, and Sam licks along his neck. Dean moans softly, yes, he can do this, the way they do this feels really fucking good.

“We’re not doing that today.” Castiel’s words are like a bucket of ice-water, and Dean flinches under the rejection.

Immediately, their arms are around him, hands sneaking under his shirt, lips on his cheeks and neck to calm him.

“Not rejecting you, Dean.” Sam promises lowly because he’s a fucking psychic. “But we won’t sleep with you until we have your consent when you’re not under the influence of your heat.”

“Bullshit.” Dean growls, and forgets all of his earlier fear, because now that he knows he won’t get this, suddenly he wants it more than anything else.

“Maybe, but you’ll have to deal with it.” Sam gives back, and the bastard chuckles softly. “It doesn’t mean we’re gonna leave you to this alone if you don’t want to.” He shifts so he can meet Dean’s eyes and there’s nothing there but gold-green speckled hazel, watching him with determined affection. “Want us to stay?”

“You already asked that.” Dean says, made bold by the demanding throbbing between his legs, and he leans up, pulls Sam in for a kiss he desperately needs. Sam’s lips are warm, firm and confidently moving against Dean’s, and when Dean experimentally opens his lips, their tongues meet and it’s like an electric shock of pleasure. Sam groans low in his throat and presses Dean back against Castiel, whose hands are roaming Dean’s chest and back freely now, touching him everywhere without ever being enough.

“If you want us here you’ll have to tell us.” Cas says when Sam pulls back for air and Dean catches his breath, lips still tingling. “Want you here. Need you here, please.”

Sam nods earnestly, and then he and Castiel pull Dean’s shirt over his head, and Dean shuffles impatiently between them and shoves the boxers he slept in from his hips himself, thinking _Fuck it. They’re my alphas and they took fucking suppressants, they ain’t gonna hurt me._

“You’re beautiful.” Cas tells him, his dark eyes roaming over Dean’s flushed skin. Dean never would have thought the sight of an alpha licking his lips could be so damn sexy, but it is, and he isn’t afraid, offers his throat again and smiles when Cas all but surges forward, pressing open-mouthed kisses into his smooth skin. “Likewise.” He mumbles and more feels than hears Sam’s laughter when the taller alpha’s hands stroke down his sides and come to rest low on his hips. “Do you want something inside you?”

Such a simple question, like a punch in the gut, and suddenly the painful emptiness inside him is back full force, and Dean whimpers in response, grinding his hips down and backwards against- the bulge in Sam’s pants. The sudden irresistible craving shakes Dean’s whole body when he rubs himself against the hot, throbbing, perfect, big thing pressing against his ass, and Dean’s hands have a will of their own when they wander down to palm the front of Castiel’s jeans, and _Fuck yeah_ , they’re both hard for him and he wants them inside of him yesterday-

“No.” Cas’ voice is a deep growl, and in a blur of movement, Dean finds himself on his back, pressed down on the mattress with his arms pinned above his head. Yes, good, he spreads his legs, offers his alphas a perfect view of his own erection and his leaking, twitching hole, arching his hips.

“Fuck.” Sam curses lowly, it’s the first time Dean’s heard it and now he will forever associate it with that burning lust racing through his nerves.

“Please!” Alphas like begging, that’s a universal rule, but Sam gets up from the bed and leaves, all but runs out of the room, and Dean whines in disappointment.

Cas catches the noise with a breathtaking kiss, and then he lets go of Dean’s wrists, his eyes pinning the omega in place efficiently. “Do you trust me not to hurt you?”

Dean nods frantically, unable to form any articulated answer when Cas’ hand strokes up the inside of his thigh, and Dean spreads his legs further, omega instincts overruling every sense of dignity he had left, keening for his alpha’s touch.

Cas doesn’t tease, only carefully nudges at Dean’s hole with one finger before he presses inside, and Dean moans, loud and wanton, uncaring who hears, because it feels so, so damn good, Cas’ finger moving inside him with a confident rhythm.

“Look at me.” Alpha voice, no chance to disobey, Dean meets Cas’ eyes when the older man pulls one finger out and pushes two in. It burns, stretches. “You’ve never even done this before.” Castiel’s voice is a low growl, and Dean nods, it wasn’t really a question anyways. Cas’ fingers move faster, fiercer, and it hurts a little but Dean can’t say stop, because that would mean Cas would take his fingers out.

“Relax.” That’s Sam, hoarse and controlled, standing behind Cas, watching them with burning eyes, and Dean tries to do as he says, loosen up his greedily clenching hole. And then Cas pushes a third finger in alongside the first two, and Dean screams, the angle, the come-hither motion Cas makes, it hits something inside Dean that turns all the discomfort into a white explosion of bliss, and Dean comes hard, his cock not softening afterwards, a small puddle of his clear spendings pooling on his stomach.

Heart racing, breath ragged, suddenly Sam is looming over him, leaning down, and he licks up Dean’s come with his large tongue, growling softly. “So fucking perfect, Dean. You have no idea what you do to us, do you?”

Dean looks at the alpha mesmerized, his brain void of any sensible answers.

“Do you still wish to be penetrated?” The clinical wording of the question is a mean contrast with the pure sex that is Cas’ voice, and Dean nods weakly, quivering need already returning. “Please?”

“How do you want it?” Sam asks, something dark in his eyes, tamed and controlled, but Dean wants to see what it looks like unleashed. One deep breath, and Dean turns around onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow, ass in the air, legs spread, classical presenting pose that he knows has both alphas freeze.

“Shit.” Sam whispers hoarsely, and then his hands are on Dean’s back, one stroking down to settle over his neck while the other checks that his hole is still drenched in slick. A moment later, Dean hears a sucking noise and a groan, and then Cas says: “You’re the best thing I ever tasted.” and Dean needs to get fucked _right now_.

He keens, arches his back like a porn star bitch, and is rewarded when something thick, cool touches his hole.

“You can say stop anytime.” Sam reminds him, and Dean hisses at him impatiently. “Just do it!”

It pushes inside, splits him open with just the right girth, and there’s Cas, peppering the skin of his back with kisses while he fucks whatever the thing penetrating Dean is in and out, a perfect bit too rough, fierce and claiming and yet he’s still safe, and Dean comes too soon again, not that it isn’t expected after suppressing years of heats.

“So beautiful.” Cas breathes. “Do you want a knot, Dean?”

“Oh god, yes, please…” Dean pushes his hole back against Cas’ hand holding the toy, taking it inside as far as he can, and Cas does something Dean can’t quite comprehend and the base of the toy swells, stretches him more, and _fuckfuckfuck_ he’s coming again, the stretching pain nothing in comparison to the pressure of pleasure, and if this is just a fake knot, what is a real one gonna feel like?

“Want it to be you next time.” Dean tells them, no reasonable thought left in his brain. “Want to feel you inside of me, both of you, want your knots…”

Sam’s hand curls around Dean’s cock, jerking him and effectively shutting the omega up, and Dean comes again in less than a minute, stuffed full, the scent and touch of his alphas everywhere on his skin.

Their arms around him pull him up to lie between them, safer than Dean has felt in a long while, and he is on a happy cloud of post-orgasmic bliss when Cas reaches down, fumbles with the toy between his legs again, and it _vibrates_. Dean screams, buzzing pleasure suddenly touching everywhere within him, stimulating every tiny little nerve ending at once, making him squirm, immediately on the edge again.

“Please-” he reaches for the toy, it’s too much stimulation at once, but Sam catches his wrist. “Trust us.” He mumbles, and Cas’ finger wiggle and dial up the intensity, and Dean breaks, comes apart between waves of spasming pleasure, sobs into Sam’s shirt because it’s too overwhelming, and fuck, both his alphas are still fully clothed. Once Dean is spent completely, Cas dials the toy down while rubbing his hips against Dean’s ass in small, thrusting motions.

“Wanna scentmark you, Dean.” Sam growls, all of the alpha’s body tense. “Let us?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Dean gives his assent weakly, strength drained completely from his body, the toy still vibrating softly inside of him.

“Such a good boy for us.” Cas’ speaks into Dean’s neck, emphasizes the words with teeth. Both alphas nestle with their belts, pants, and then they press against him, Cas into the cleft of his ass, Sam rubbing his cock against Dean’s, and their arousal is overwhelming in the air, heady, musky alpha lust making Dean dizzy, and they start thrusting against him, both knots already popped, hot and moist against his skin, their grip on his hips and shoulders tightening, rapid breathing and low grunts mixing, getting faster, movements fiercer, and the force behind the tandem thrusts of their hips makes Dean wonder what it feels like to have that fierceness directed inside instead of just against, and then Cas presses another button, last, strongest intensity of the vibrator, and all Dean feels is the climax, pulsing, brutal pleasure enveloped in his alphas’ scents, and then Sam and Cas both growl and come, spilling their white, fragrant seed all over Dean’s stomach and back, so much of it painting the omega’s skin. Sam directs Dean’s hand to the base of his cock, shows him how to pressure the knot and shoots another load all over Dean’s hand with a groan while Cas mumbles low, broken praise into Dean’s hair.

When they finish, Cas turns off the vibrator and Dean all but collapses into the sheets. The toy is left inside him, though, and Sam and Cas aren’t done yet- they rub their come into Dean’s skin, spreading their scent all over him with gentle fingers, half massage, half steady caress. It’s the most effective way to semi-permanently mark an omega, Dean will carry their scent now until his next heat hits, and everyone will know he’s taken, and he doesn’t care. Dean _likes_ it, and it would be scary if he weren’t so exhausted.

“Are you okay?” Sam whispers against Dean’s lips.

“Huh?” Dean blinks at the alpha confused. “Course I am. Thank you.”

“We meant to wait another day with the scentmarking. You are very- we got carried away.” Castiel says, and he looks honestly sorry, which is ridiculous.

“M’fine, Cas. You even asked permission, s’totally cool.” To emphasize that, Dean pulls the alpha’s arm tight around his waist, snuggling up between both of them. “Wanna sleep for a week.”

“It’s to be expected after being on suppressants for so long.” Sam says softly. “You should probably spend the day in bed.”

“With you?” Dean’s bliss-drunk and sleepy, filters failing him, and his alphas’ hold tightens ever so faintly. “If that is what you want.” Cas says.

“Hm-hmm.” Dean agrees, smiling softly as his eyes fall shut. A bit later, Sam wiggles out of Dean’s bed that is admittedly a bit small for three people lying in it, not that it bothered them before. Dean makes a low, protesting noise and Sam strokes his hair. “Be right back. You need some kind of breakfast at least.”

He’s probably right, being all reasonable and responsible. It’s kind of Sam’s gig, Dean begins to see. Since Cas is staying, spooning him and providing lazy, constant caresses, he doesn’t complain when Sam leaves the room. A bit later, the tall alpha returns with a tray and Cas makes Dean sit up reluctantly. Juice, cookies, apple slices and a bottle of water later, Dean curls up in Sam’s arms while Cas steps out to phone Gabriel and tell him about the new development.

Dean is still confused about everything and most of all himself, because while he’s still slightly nervous and cautious around Sam and Cas, he’s not afraid of them anymore, and in the absence of that fear, there is an uncertainty of a different kind that he’s only too happy to ignore for now. His alphas continue being unbearably considerate and gentle with him, and for once in his life, Dean accepts being treated like a coddled omega, because if nothing else, his alphas have proven beyond doubt that they respect his choices. It’s the strangest thought Dean has ever had.

“You’re frowning.” Sam points out. “Anything I can do?”

“Nah.” Dean refuses to meet his eyes- that’s another thing, his alphas are really fucking observant and if Dean looks at him now, Sam will know that it has something to do with them and probably draw the wrong conclusion- how do you tell someone that they’re being too nice?

“I know this is all happening pretty quick right now.” Sam says, absent-mindedly stroking Dean’s neck. “But I promise that Cas and I will be here for you always, okay? And you can take as much time as you need to get to know us and decide whether you want to stay.”

“What?” This pulls Dean out of the hazy contentedness. _Whether I stay? Do they want me to leave? How long do I have here?_

“Shh. Calm down. That was a stupid thing for me to say. Dean.” Sam’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and then the alpha leans down to kiss Dean’s forehead. “You can stay for as long as you like. What I meant to say is that we won’t force you to become our mate.”

“What?” It’s really the only appropriate response Dean has, so he repeats it.

“If you want to, once you turn eighteen, we’ll help set you up with a life on your own. We would remain your alphas on paper and you could live free.” Sam says. “Or we could help you emigrate to Canada where omegas get full legal autonomy once they turn eighteen.”

Dean stares at Sam, completely dumbstruck. Being patient and considerate is one thing, offering to liberate him in the unconstitutional way is an entirely different matter. Every time Dean comes to grudgingly accept that maybe Sam and Cas are no ordinary alphas, actually are good persons, they somehow up the ante, pulling the rug from under Dean all over again.

“I… can I…” Dean bites his lip and looks at Sam helplessly overwhelmed.

“Sorry. I just wanted to tell you that you don’t have any obligations here. If you don’t want to mate with us, you don’t have to. You don’t need to decide right now.” Sam cards his fingers through Dean’s hair soothingly. “It was unfair to spring that on you with your hormones in turmoil.”

“You’re kind of unreal, you know that?” Dean mumbles and slumps against his alpha’s chest. Safe. Despite all his experience and instincts, Dean has to reluctantly admit that there is a possibility that he actually might be safe here.

When Cas returns from the surprisingly long phone call, he is smiling with a kind of satisfaction that makes Dean curious, but the blue-eyed alpha only crooks his head and then suggests they shower before the next wave of Dean’s heat hits.

“I can walk for myself.” Dean protests when he and Sam get up from the bed and Sam promptly lifts him into his arms, and Sam looks at him with huge, puppy-dog eyes that should be illegal for alphas to use. “Please? Let us take care of you, only until the heat is over?”

Dean is so fucked. “Next time I’m walking by myself.” He mutters grudgingly as Sam carries him through the hallway, into his and Cas’ bathroom, and whoa. The room is only reachable from the alphas’ bedroom and wasn’t part of the tour yesterday, but damn, is it ever huge- not that Dean’s own bathroom is small or anything, and the tiles are pretty and everything’s clean, but while the smaller bathroom has a shower and a tub, it lacks a Jacuzzi fit for a medium sized orgy, a small sauna and a sound system integrated in the ceiling.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Cas likes warm water in all forms.” Sam shrugs, grinning almost bashfully at Dean’s dropped jaw.

“Do you have any preferences regarding music?” Cas asks casually. They don’t have Motörhead, but an old Jimmy Hendrix album will do, and while the familiar riffs fill the room’s marvellous acoustics, Dean sits on the wide edge of the tub and watches his alphas undress. And holy shit, he’s been missing out. Before his heat, he was largely too shy to properly look at them, and this morning, their cocks held most of his attention to the point that he didn’t even care that the rest of them was dressed, but now, well, fuck. Suddenly, Dean is aware of the toy inside him again, desire uncurling at the base of his spine, slowly crawling upwards, announcing the next wave of his heat.

Sam and Cas are gorgeous, there’s no other word. Sam is all broad muscle, alpha through and through, and if it weren’t for the occasional lankiness he displays even while kicking off his jeans, the perfection would be too much. Cas is leaner, more slender than built, but wiry strong and with an inherent grace and confident dominance in his movements that makes Dean’s mouth go dry. Suddenly, he feels very much like the twinky, young omega that he is, overly conscious of his sex’s weakness.

“You okay?” Sam’s eyes are on him, and this is ridiculous, Dean was naked all along, there is no reason to suddenly feel as vulnerable as he does right now.

“Yeah.” Is his voice always that high?

“Come here, Dean.” Cas orders, Dean obeys. It’s easy safe for the part where he doesn’t know what Cas is gonna do, but all he gets is a hand on his shoulder and a kiss on his forehead, and Dean scolds himself for being so nervous.

“You’re thinking very much.” Cas observes.

“Yeah, this is all kind of- new.”

“We know.” Sam smiles. “Can we touch you?”

Technically, Cas is already touching him, but that’s not what Sam means, so Dean just nods.

Naked, there’s so much more skin on skin, and the scents are so much more prominent between them, mixing into something new, wonderful, delicious, making Dean hungry in various ways. Hands, lips, blunt teeth, all over his skin, and when Dean experimentally runs his hands down Sam’s chest, turns his head to nibble on Cas’ neck, he’s rewarded with low rumbling groans, and it’s thrilling to be allowed to touch his alphas like this, taste and feel that perfection surrounding him and giving some of the pleasure back.

Somehow, Sam and Cas manoeuvre him into the spacious shower and turn on the light rain of warm water while Dean curiously reaches for Cas’ hardened cock, eager to compare it to Sam’s. Cas hisses, and Dean remembers something. “Sorry.” He pants, but doesn’t stop running his hand up and down Cas’ erection, fingertips exploring the veins on the shaft, the slit on the bulbous head and the knot-stretchmarks at the base of it.

“Sorry for what?” Cas grits out between clenched teeth, his voice an almost-growl.

“You wanted to shower before the next wave of heat hit.” Dean says and tries a twist and squeeze that always works for him jerking off. Cas all but snarls and pins him against the cool tiles of the wall, crashing their lips together, and then Sam laughs softly as he sinks to his knees. “You know, we’re supposed to take care of you, not the other way around.”

Dean doesn’t answer that, for one because his mouth is currently being deliciously ravaged by a ravenous alpha, and for two because right then, Sam takes Dean’s smaller, hard cock in his mouth and everything resembling clear thoughts evaporates from Dean’s brain at once.

Dean moans into Cas’ mouth and his hips buckle but are held in place easily by Sam’s large hands, and shit, the alpha’s tongue is moving around him, teasing one moment, broad, rough licks the next, all the while Cas’ hands roaming his chest, thumbs stroking his nipples, and Dean tries to give them any kind of warning before he comes, but Sam just sucks him down hard, and Dean’s shout is muffled as he comes into Sam’s mouth, the alpha’s tongue moving as he swallows easily.

When Sam lets go, smirking up at him satisfied, Dean admittedly is a little weak in the knees, not that Cas would let him fall anyways.

“That’s better. We’re here for you, not the other way around.” Sam reminds him as he gets back on his feet.

Cas finally lets Dean up for air, and he takes a moment to gather what he wants to say: “I want you to get off as well.”

“Let us worry about that.” Cas says, voice throaty sandpaper rubbing Dean in all the right places.

“S’not as much fun if you don’t get to come.” Dean insists stubbornly, eying Sam’s hard cock and licking his lips unwittingly.

“No.” Sam says sternly, guessing his thoughts. “Not while you’re in heat.”

“Making me dislike my biology for all new reasons here.” Dean glares at Sam and receives a smirk and an unimpressed lifted eyebrow in return. “Later, if you’re good, little one.”

Aw fuck, no, Dean doesn’t like cute nicknames. He doesn’t. He’s not shivering because of it, either, no, Cas is licking his neck, that’s why, that’s the only reason. “Let’s clean you up, shall we?”

Dean almost, only almost wishes they’d lick him everywhere, not that he’s complaining about soaped hands all over his body. And because he feels daring, he gathers some of the soap in his hands and reaches for his alphas’ cocks, and when Sam rumbles a low warning, Dean looks up at him and then at Cas wide-eyed. “Please?”

Their eyes darken, dangerous, and it makes something in Dean’s chest flutter excitedly, a good kind of adrenaline and anticipation he didn’t know could exist.

“You sure?” Sam asks.

“Yeah I’m sure. Want your come all over me again.”

Apparently, that was the right thing to say, because he’s pressed into the tiles again, bigger hands catching around his, stroking viciously fast, and Cas comes first, his face buried against Dean’s neck, Dean having to fight the sudden urge to beg for a bite.

Sam follows almost immediately, clenched jaw, face twisted tight in pleasure. It’s partly because of Dean that his alphas look that way, and that is an elating feeling Dean could get used to.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Sam mumbles, and Dean flushes and wishes his skin wasn’t quite so wet so their come would last longer instead of flowing down the drain.

“Very good boy.” Cas agrees, causing Dean to struggle suppressing a whimper. Their touches turn tender again at that, expensive soap and shampoo smelling like sweet herbs, filling the whole bathroom. When they step out of the shower, both alphas make a point to wrap him into ridiculously soft towels so he doesn’t get cold, because omegas in heat are sensitive to temperature changes, and after receiving another of Sam’s puppy-looks, Dean doesn’t even try to protest when they smother him with body lotion that smells like apples and vanilla, even though he would be totally capable of doing that by himself.

Sam wraps him into a soft blanket with arms meant for omegas in heat and Cas carries him outside. “Would you be content with staying in our room?”

“Yes.” The bed is bigger and it smells nice, and it’s not as far to be carried. All three of them snuggle up in Sam and Cas’ bed. Lo and behold, his alphas have an retractable TV in the wall across the bed, and Dr. Sexy is on. Sam sniggers and teases him, but soon enough, Dean is explaining the more complex relations of the soap opera, trying not to appear too flustered because Cas is mostly watching him instead of the TV, smiling with genuine happiness.

His heat hits five more times that day, interrupted by much drinking of fluids, snacks, cuddles and one more shower at night, this time, sadly, without blow- or handjobs. The next day is similarly uneventful, not counting a short discussion about blowjobs that ends with his alphas making Dean come five times in a row to shut him up.

Altogether, it is the exact opposite of what he had expected from his first heat in years. Dean is cared for, safe, in control of what happens to him and, dare he think it, _happy_. Cas is funny, his dry humour striking in unexpected moments, and Sam is downright adorable, able to find the most mundane things fascinating, from the writer’s strike’s impact on Dr. Sexy episodes to classic cars.

“You know a lot about vehicles.” Cas remarks after Dean answers one of Sam’s questions about car types with a five-minute lecture.

Dean shrugs. “It’s one of the things Dad taught me before-” He doesn’t end that sentence- they bought him, they read his file and know anyways. Cas pulls him in a little closer and Sam kisses Dean’s temple, and neither of them say anything until Dean clears his throat. “Anyways, knowing about cars comes in handy on the road.”

“That makes sense.” Cas says and allows Dean to bury his nose against the base of his neck. Because of that, Dean doesn’t catch the glance Sam and Cas exchange, and misses the way Sam’s lips quirk ever so slightly.

The next morning, five days since Dean left the facility, his heat is over. Sam and Cas leave him to shower in his own bathroom, and when Dean takes out the toy that Cas told him to keep, he can’t help but notice that the flesh coloured vibrator is smaller than both his alpha’s cocks, and thank god he isn’t in heat anymore, because the thought of taking Sam’s or Cas’ cock is torturous enough as it is.

When he comes down, dressed in fresh, new clothes, the morning sun is shining into the kitchen where Sam is making wholemeal pancakes. When Dean offers his help, he gets to cut apples in little pieces, and Sam makes some pancakes with the fruit baked in. It tastes surprisingly delicious.

They’re just about done with breakfast when Gabriel drops in on them- routine after every omega’s first heat, and Dean's caseworker is a dedicated one. Gabriel takes one sniff and raises both eyebrows. “Scentmarking?”

“Yeah.” Dean flushes and hides a bashful smile- technically knowing that he smells different now is one thing, having that fact confirmed by someone else is another. Dean carries Cas’ and Sam’s scents now, and he would be lying if he said the idea displeases him. Gabriel still sends the alphas a stern glance. “Bit soon.”

“They asked, the first time.” Dean says, because his alphas shouldn’t have to defend themselves for this. “And the second time, I asked them.” He adds, flushing even heavier. When he meets Sam’s eyes hesitantly and then glances at Cas, both of them are looking at him rather like they’d like to do some things Dean’s caseworker wouldn’t necessarily need to witness.

“Alright, I get it.” Gabriel says and rolls his eyes. “Tone the mating pheromones down a notch, will you? I just had breakfast.”

“Sorry.” Dean mumbles while Sam looks at Gabriel with an expression Dean can’t help but call bitch-face internally, and no, he is not thinking about how unexpectedly sexy a sassy alpha is because he promised Gabriel to tone the pheromones down, not spike them.

“You know neither Cas nor I would scentmark –an omega who doesn’t want it.” There’s a tiny pause in Sam’s sentence where Dean suddenly wishes he’d said _our_ , but that’s not for now to think about.

“Sam and Cas were really great.” He says, swallowing because this is pretty close to admitting feelings he isn’t even ready to acknowledge yet.

“Not that you have much ground for comparison, but I’ll take your word for it.” Gabriel says, somewhat pacified. “How much sexual interaction are you intending to continue now that the heat is over?”

Dean is very glad he isn’t currently drinking something, because he’s pretty sure he’d spit it all over the table, and he forgets that he’s supposed to behave like an omega for a moment. “Dude, rude much? What the hell does that matter to you?”

“Well, going from your reaction I figure you haven’t talked about it yet, and since communication is key to a healthy relationship and I’m your state-appointed guardian for now, I think it’s a pretty good question actually.” Gabriel says, crossing his arms.

Cas sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose, and Dean is getting a bit too used to running his mouth unfiltered. “He always that annoying?”

“You have no idea.” Cas gives back and sends him a wry smirk. “You should have seen him when I introduced Sam to our family first.”

“I still have scars from the electroshock.” Sam muses, and Gabriel snorts. “Cry-baby. No changing the topic, are you gonna do something about that ridiculous amount of mating scent? I swear, I’m bringing a gas mask next time.”

“That decision is entirely up to Dean.” Cas says, looking at the omega calmly.

“I, um.” Oh god this is embarrassing. “I think I would like that.”

“Think isn’t good enough, pretty boy. You take it slow, alright?”

“Of course we will.” Sam says, a trace of real annoyance in his tone. Gabriel being protective over his charge is fine, but continuously implying they’d do anything Dean wouldn’t want is quickly becoming old.

“You should smell yourselves.” Gabriel gives back. “Do you have a prescription of contraceptives yet?”

“I can’t take suppressants.” Dean points out with a frown.

“There are milder compounds you may take. They only prevent pregnancy, not heats.” Gabriel says and pulls something out of his pocket- a prescription pad. “Being the awesomely further studied social worker that I am, I even can prescribe them.” He writes something in rather unreadable handwriting and signs the piece of paper before handing it to Dean. “Use as the package insert says, you’re a tad too young for pups.” It should be funny, but somehow, there’s a grim quirk to the beta’s mouth, and Cas’ jaw seems tense. Sam just nods. “We’ll pick them up today then, just so they’re here if they are needed.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” It’s meant to come off lightly, but there’s still something in Gabriel’s tone.

“You’re pretty serious about that.” Dean says, tilting his head slightly. All three older men are silent for a long moment, and Dean fidgets. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy…”

“It’s okay. I would tell you why, with Gabriel’s permission.” Castiel says seriously.

Gabriel sighs. “Might as well. The short version: Our Dad, may he burn in hell, was a major douchebag who married our omega brother off and we never saw him again.”

 _Whoa_. Insecurely, Dean looks at Sam and Cas for guidance. With a solemn expression, Cas elaborates: “Alfie was the youngest child of our family. Father was a rather conservative man and gave him away when he was barely thirteen.” Dean’s stomach clenches, because he knows how those stories end. “The alpha he was mated to was supposed to wait with the breeding until our brother was at least fifteen, but he did not. Alfie died in childbirth before his fourteenth birthday.”

Sam puts his hand over Cas’ comforting, and Dean’s throat is suddenly awfully tight, his eyes somehow moister than they should be. “Sorry.”

“Kid was pure sunshine. Everybody loved him. I don’t think either of our siblings ever really forgave Dad.” Gabriel says, and then looks at Dean. “So, now you know Cassie’s and my tragic omega-rights back-story. If you get preggers before you’re eighteen, I’m gonna kick your ass, Dean Winchester.”

Dean blinks and nods. “Okay.”

And that’s that. Gabriel stays for a while longer, talking about lighter topics and emptying Sam and Cas’ kitchen of anything that has sugar in it, and then he gets up to leave for another appointment.

“Oh, I almost forgot, I brought you something, Dean.” There’s mischief sparkling in the small beta’s eyes when he pulls on his jacket and nods outside. “Wanna come and see something pretty?”

Gabriel opens the front door and Dean steps outside after him, and freezes. There, waiting in the driveway, black, a little dusty but whole, familiar, stands a 67 Chevy Impala he never thought he’d see again. She looks fine, no obvious scratches, but he has to inspect her first, and take a look at the engine, it’s been almost five months-

“Hello?” Gabriel’s hand waves in front of his face. “Anybody home?”

“How?” Dean asks hoarsely.

“Let’s just say your reluctance to part with your car was documented in detail by the officer who picked you up.” Gabriel smirks. “Had to call in a favour to track her down, they sold her to some shady used car dealer. Sam and Cas provided the pocket money. I thought it-” He can’t speak on because Dean tackle-hugs him, and then his alphas, both at the same time, shaking torn between sobs and floundering laughter. “Thank you. Thank you so much…”

Sam chuckles softly, Cas kisses the top of his head, and Gabriel provides proper gagging noises in the background, and Dean hasn’t felt this happy in all his life, ever. Reluctantly, he pulls back, looking up at his alphas for a long moment, and then Gabriel pointedly clears his throat and throws him something. Dean catches it reflexively, and it fits familiarly into his palm- Baby’s keys.

“Do you need a moment alone with the car?” Gabriel asks, and the question is only half-joking. Dean shakes his head and walks down the three steps to the driveway, approaches her and runs his hand along her side reverently. “Did you drive her here?”

“Yeah, gonna have to take a cab back.” Gabriel says.

“What did she sound like?” Do Cas and Sam have tools? So far, this house had everything Dean needed, but what about oil? A bottle jack should still be in the back, assuming nobody stole it, gloves would be good if he-

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Sam asks, and hands him something. It’s a small, light blue plastic card with his mugshot and name on it, above reading “Omega Driver Licence”. At the bottom of the card, there is a ticked ballot box next to the statement: “Omega is permitted to drive vehicles without Alpha surveillance”.

“How… You’re gonna let me drive?”

“You acquired a driver’s licence under your false beta identity. There’s been a precedent for that some years ago.” Sam says shrugging. Dean remembers to close his mouth. There’s nothing he can say, nothing to even remotely express his gratitude, so he settles for: “Wanna go for a ride?”

“Can you drop me off in the city?” Gabriel asks.

“Sure?” Dean looks at Cas and Sam for permission, Cas smiles and Sam grins, and in a flash, Gabriel is on the other side of the car. “I call shotgun.”

Dean is dreaming. No, Dean is probably dead and in heaven. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care anymore how improbably weird the last five days have been, how dangerous it is to enjoy and trust. They (he) drive Gabriel to the train station, and then they pick up pie in a cute little bakery, ignoring all weird glances at the omega who knows how to drive stick. Sam gives him directions to the university, and they eat the pie in the park next to the campus, Cas telling Dean more about his work.

On their way back, they stop at a local garage to pick up oil for Baby and some other stuff- careful inquiries showing that Sam and Cas have a woeful lack of decent tools. It’s easily fixed and Dean almost manages to suppress the twinge of guilt because they’re spending money for him again- his alphas just bought him a car and he can’t bring himself to regret it, what’s 200 $ worth of equipment in comparison?

The young beta mechanic is a little baffled when Sam and Cas constantly ignore her attempts to talk shop and point to Dean, but as soon as she figures out that Dean knows exactly what he’s talking about, she grins and even gets a little flirty.

“Name’s Jo.” She winks while she shows Dean their assortment of battery cables- Baby has a tendency to corrode hers within a year.

“Dean.” He gives back, returning the smile- it’s a reflex from the times he was hiding as a beta. Flash of a grin here, subtle pose there, it’s easier to get by when people like you.

“You know a lot about cars for an omega.”

“You know a lot about cars for a girl.”

She laughs. “Learned it all from my step-dad. He runs this place.” Tilting her head, she sends a glance at Sam and Cas, who are standing at the other end of the short aisle. “We’re actually looking for someone part-time, if you…”

“I’d have to ask my alphas.” Dean says, heart suddenly beating in his throat. _My alphas_. This is a job, a legit job offer, something he could do, a piece of independence dangled in front of his nose. Would Sam and Cas go for that? They’ve let him made all decisions so far, but they were also pretty insistent on providing… Well, it can’t hurt to ask, right?

“So, we got everything, and Jo kinda offered me a job?” Okay, he’s gonna have to work on his presentation skills.

“You wish to work here.” Cas clarifies with a frown at Jo, who fidgets nervously.

“Well, it would be something I could do, and you’ll be working most days, too, so I kinda thought…”

“Let’s think about this at home, okay?” Sam says sternly, and Dean’s shoulders drop. “Okay.”

“We’re hesitant because there’s school to consider.” Cas says.

“School?” _I probably should have expected something along that line. Sam and Cas don’t do conservative…_ Dean looks at his alphas in contemplation- at least they don’t want him to be a stay-at-home omega. He could deal with school, if that made them happy.

“We’re gonna need some time to go over this.” Sam addresses Jo firmly. “Dean hasn’t been with us for long, and we want to make sure he’s settled in before we consider this.”

“Sure.” Jo apparently thinks quick on her feet. “I can give you my stepdad’s number.” To Dean, she adds: “I think you’d like him.” Scribbling down a number and a name on a piece of paper, she hesitates a second and then hands it to Dean. Then she helps them load everything they bought in the back of the Impala and mock-salutes them goodbye, and Dean drives away from the garage with the odd feeling that he just made a friend.

The pharmacy is their last stop on the way back, to pick up Gabriel’s prescription. When they return to Sam and Cas’ house, it is only the second time that Dean is driving up to it, and it feels a lot like coming home. As soon as they’re inside, Cas hugs him, clingy and possessive, taking a long moment to scent Dean, and Sam joins them when the front door falls shut, a low rumbling noise in his chest that makes Dean look up. “You okay?”

“That beta was showering you in flirtations.” Cas answers instead and sucks on Dean’s neck as if to make a point.

“Jo? She’s just selling car parts.” Dean laughs in disbelief.

“I could sell car parts without winking.” Sam grumbles, and he’s honest to god pouting, and Dean can’t. If anyone told him possessive alphas could be cute a week ago, he’d have thought them insane, and now Sam and Cas are here, trying to be nonchalant about touching him as much as possible, this is just too ridiculously adorable.

“Well, she’s not much competition.” He mumbles, smiles into Sam’s shirt like the happy idiot that he is.

“It’s your choice. Always.” Cas says, and there’s a tension in his arms that Dean wants gone. He leans into him, nuzzles his throat. “I’m pretty happy where I am.”

“You are?” Sam meets his eyes inquisitive, and Dean allows himself to smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

 


	5. It's a terrible Sentinel/Guide AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Slight Dub Con, mentioned former underage Non Con, light torture (not between main threesome)

“Hey, Wesson, move your fine ass over here!”

The words aren’t very loud, spoken at the other end of the large office, but Sam hears them anyways.

“He’s going to pester me all day long if I don’t go, isn’t he?”

His mumble is so low that his lips don’t even move, it’s barely a whisper. Cas’ reply is lower.

“That is likely.”

Sam’s wary sigh is loud in comparison, but he obliges the request anyways. Legs thrown on his desk, Gabriel leafs through a thick folder. As Sam approaches, the bright-pink bubble of gum bursts from the corner of Gabriel’s mouth. The pop echoes, sweet bubblegum smell hits Sam’s nose. He has to make a conscious effort not to frown under Gabriel’s watchful eyes. With a lift of his eyebrow, Sam takes note of the rainbow-coloured glitter ornaments newly adorning the nameplate that is supposed to read ‘Guide Milton’ white on black.

“I thought we talked about this.”

“And I thought you’d try and see some sense, Samsquatch.”

Cheerful swing in his movement, Gabriel gets up and beckons him closer.

“I called in a favour. All currently unbonded Guides in California, alphabetized for you.”

Suddenly, the folder doesn’t look as thick anymore, in fact it’s barely wider than Sam’s thumb. It doesn’t matter.

“No civilians.”

Sam is careful not to let his impatience show.

“Yeah, I know, one of yours and Cassie's ridiculous rules, but let’s face it.”

Gabriel levels him with a firm stare, and something brushes over the edges of Sam’s mind. Gabriel is a bonded Guide of beta-level strength, and even this brief touch means a world of relief on Sam’s strained senses.

“You’re approaching the end of your rope. You and Castiel both.”

Gabriel is serious when he presses the hopeless folder into Sam’s hand. None of the Guides on active duty resonated with Cas or him, never mind that they’re a package deal for better or for worse. The odds that one of the Guides unsuitable for service is even strong enough to take on both Cas and Sam-

“Take it.”

Sam looks up at the calm, confident voice of his mentor. Special Agent Sentinel Lucifer Milton is leaning in the doorframe to their office with his arms crossed, a frown on his face. Instinctively, Sam takes a step away from Gabriel- it’s basic Sentinel courtesy, even though he’d never dream of threatening another Sentinel’s bonded.

“I don’t think…”

“Your spikes are getting worse. Even Castiel agrees that you should look through it.”

Luce’s tone is calm but firm as he approaches. Sam sends a quick look across the room. No doubt Cas has heard the whole conversation, come to think of it, Gabe and Luce probably already cornered him, but his partner’s eyes remain firmly stuck on the screen where he’s writing up their latest report. Sam caves.

“Alright. I’ll… look.”

It earns him a smile from Luce and a grin of approval from Gabe. He leaves them to sort out their own casework and joins Cas back at their shared desk.

“Civilians?”

Cas looks up and meets his eyes, stern.

“We are more than sufficient as a team. You and I don’t have to rely on a Guide the way Lucifer relies on Gabriel. We are partners.”

“Yeah, but we couldn’t guarantee their safety.”

The words leave a bitter taste in Sam’s mouth. Work in the Bureau of Supernatural Investigations is not for the faint of heart, and more often than not, agents take the difficult cases home. Occasionally, they even follow on their own.

“Our options are running out.”

It is only because Sam has known him as long as he has that he hears the trace of guilty unwillingness in Cas’ tone. Still, if there is a Guide who can help them both, save them from the zoning coma that is inevitable in a few years…

The chief’s door flies open, and Deputy Director Sentinel Mills comes into the room, Guide Singer following her closely.

“Got a call from the police station down riverside. Zero-six-thirty, most likely vengeful spirit. Wesson, Novak, you’re up.”

“How many victims?”

Cas is already on his feet to get his jacket and Sam hurries to follow him.

“No deaths yet.” Singer says. “Two confirmed cases of mental interference, one vic with mild injuries, probably mind control. Someone in middle management of the company was quick enough on their toes.”

“Lucky.” Sam acknowledges.

Director Mills nods, lips pursed.

“Sandover Bridge and Iron. We have the names of the vics and the junior manager who called the cops. I want you to play this one by the books, you hear me boys?”

There’s a warning undertone, and Sam nods sternly. No doubt Mills has already taken note of the folder that still rests closed on Sam’s desk, but she doesn’t comment anything else. Singer catches both his and Cas’ shoulders before they go. A moment’s respite passes from the experienced Guide to both Sentinels.

“Take care.”

* * *

 

“You’re fired.”

Dean takes a deep breath and turns to Mr. Adler.

“Sir.”

“Don’t wanna hear it, Smith.”

“Two people would’ve died.”

Mr. Adler glares at him, and Dean retreats behind the mask of unimpressed coolness that he has been wearing for as long as he can remember. There is nothing behind Adler’s scowl, no relief or regret or guilt, just anger over lost work hours and the investigation of the building. Most of the employees already went home for today, a few are being kept by the cops on the pavement in front of the skyscraper.

“You have until tonight to clear your desk.”

“Nobody is allowed to enter the building right now.”

Dean points it out with faint hope. A vague sneer is all he gets in return.

 _Fuck it_.

It’s not that he loved the job at Sandover. But it was safe, and calm, and boring enough not to attract the attention of any kind of Sentinels.

“Mr. Smith!”

As Adler walks away from him, someone else approaches, and Dean turns to smile faintly at Ian. There is a big band-aid over the scratch on his neck where Dean wasn’t fast enough to wrestle the pen out of his hands. Aside from that and a remaining paleness, well, he’s alive, and his clammy hands clasp Dean’s tightly.

“I can’t say how grateful I am, Sir!”

“There there, it’s alright.”

Dean forces his smile wider as he pulls back his hand to escape the pulsing wave of _afraid relieved confused nervous_. Instead he pats the man’s shoulder in a manly way, and Ian’s face brightens.

“Sorry about Mr. Adler. Maybe you should talk to the union, I’m pretty sure this isn’t legal…”

Dean lets him talk while a black car turns around the corner next block.

_Oh fuck._

Even the weakest Guide could sense the Sentinels in the vehicle. Dean doesn’t reach out for them, does his best to retreat. He has to leave. Now.

“Sorry, but I need to get something from my office.”

Dean turns and heads into the building, ignores Ian’s protests. He knows better than to take the elevator, instead jogs up the stairs, grateful that he’s stayed disciplined with his workouts. Mr. Sandover senior stands and glares at him at every turn, but as long as Dean concentrates on his shields, the spirit can’t come near him.

“You failed the company.”

“You gotta learn to deal with disappointment, dude. Here’s a thought: Sticking people’s heads in microwaves: not a good strategy.”

There are four things in his office he needs to take with him. The family photo, because it’s the only copy he has. The key ring from the locked drawer that is part of his contingency plans. The folder of information he’s collected about the late P.T. Sandover. And the key to the storage room where the gloves are most likely kept.

“Should’ve just dealt with you on my own.” Dean mutters and curses his panicked reaction earlier that day. He had been growing weary, shielding his entire department and keeping feelers out for activity in other parts of the building, but he only just found the right lead an hour ago and after saving Ian’s life, he hadn’t thought he’d be capable on his own.

“Idiot.”

Nobody hears the mumbled self-insult, not even Sandover senior, because one second he’s there, and the next second he isn’t, and the second after that, Dean feels why. The Sentinels have just entered the building, and Sandover is stronger than your everyday spirit, _shit shit shit_ -

The windows in the first three storeys of the building burst in a deafening noise that Dean hears loud and clear even up here in his office.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

He’s in the hallway and down the staircase before he can think, and he _feels_ the two Sentinels, their minds shutting down, and _god fucking dammit_. Fire extinguishers are made of iron, that includes the one Dean tears from the wall. Five stairs down, two Sentinels are lying on the white linoleum, choking, and Dean doesn’t need to look, he just swings the heavy piece of metal where the presence feels strongest.

One of the Sentinels makes a noise, and as Sandover vanishes, Dean turns around and extends his mind- what else can he do? His cover isn’t worth letting innocent people die, even if they are Sen-

Blue. Blue eyes, pupils dilatated. Dean sinks to his knees between them, reaches to touch. Touch, and the next second agonizing cacophony fills both his ears, mind, and _You need to stop._

_Calm down. Snap out of it. Need to get outta here._

The other Sentinel’s hands fly, clutch Dean’s, and Dean clears his throat.

“S’okay. Listen to me, you’re okay. I can keep’im off your backs until you get proper gear, yeah?”

It works, they come back slowly, and the bigger Sentinel, still with his eyes closed, mumbles.

“Ours.”

_What?_

“Our Guide.”

_Oh hell no._

Dean tears back his hands, and he isn’t gentle about it either. The sudden loss of contact startles both of them, but Dean doesn’t have time to feel for his- for the Sentinels.

Without looking back, he runs. The building isn’t surrounded, he gets to his Prius fine, and speeds the whole way home. In his apartment, he pauses to send Jo a text with one of their teenage codewords. She’ll know what it means, and she’ll tell Ellen. His family won’t rat him out, he knows that for sure. There is a prepacked bag in one of his closets. It contains clothes for a week, a fake ID, a month’s supply of suppressants and a generous amount of cash Dean has been carefully withdrawing for several years. His laptop is a hard temptation to resist, but Dean leaves it, confident that no sensitive or incriminating files are on it. Eventually, Jo will be able to get it back for him, but first, Dean needs to vanish. Last before he leaves, he takes the hidden pillbox of suppressants from behind a loose tile in the bathroom. He has planned and dreaded this moment for a long time.

Dean’s not dumb. He knows his chances are crap. Nobody at Sandover had known about Dean’s status, and the majority of his environment has forgotten it, but if those two Sentinels decide to claim him, Dean won’t be able to hide his worst secret anymore. He dumps the Prius in the woods outside of town and throws one of the precious scent blockers. The highly synthetic, highly illegal, liquid-filled plastic bag explodes and at once fills the entire parking lot in the woods with the pungent mix of bleach, peppermint and something rotten. Without Ash’s help, Dean never would’ve gotten his hands on them, but they pay off now. Just as he steps into the tree line, he feels eyes on him and whirls around, tense all over.

There’s a pitch black raven, sitting on the car, tilting its head. On the floor beside it, a giant, red-brown wolf is sitting, tail wagging and paws digging into the ground excitedly. Neither of the creepy animals comes closer, though, so Dean carefully retreats, and breaks into a run as soon as he’s out of sight.

He hikes to another parking lot two miles away and steals another car. At the train station four towns over, a homeless guy takes the car off him for three hundred dollars and Dean has the guy promise to drive at least two days away. The train in the opposite direction leaves ten minutes later.

* * *

 

“What in the name of God was that?”

Director Mills angry is not a pleasant sight, and not pleasant to listen to either.

“What about ‘play this one by the book’ sounded even remotely like ‘go into the haunted building without a grain of salt on you’ to you two buffoons?”

“There was a civilian.”

Castiel’s voice is clipped.

“We did not have time to access the situation properly and his friend made it clear that it was very urgent. We did not expect-”

“Did not expect the VS to blow up on you.”

“Jody.”

It is rather telling, Castiel thinks, how one grumbled word from Guide Singer can calm the enraged Sentinel. Enviable.

“If what Sam’s said’s true, that was their Guide in danger, even if they didn’t know it at the time.”

Director Mill’s expression softens somewhat.

“You’re sure about it?”

“Absolutely.” Sam says.

The conviction in his hoarse voice resounds in a part of Castiel’s soul he wasn’t aware of until today. Next to Sam’s place, there is something empty, fluttering, potential.

“We’ll have Milton and Milton check him out. Are you able to finish the case?”

“Yes.” Castiel says.

He doesn’t want to, all his instincts are screaming at him to go after his Guide, _their_ Guide, who was panicked and scared, but he’s doing this job for a reason.

“Our Guide left extensive research and a good idea where the remains are.” Sam adds.

It sounds right, perfect. _Our Guide._ There’s a Guide meant for Sam and him, someone beautiful with green eyes. Someone strong. And smart, smart enough to do almost all of Sam’s and Castiel’s work on his own. It’s one more reason to stay and finish the case first, because Castiel _knows_ their Guide wants them to, and he wants to make him proud. Prove that they are worthy.

It’s the gloves, like their Guide suspected, kept in the storage room of the 22nd floor. The restless spirit of Sandover senior appears again, but this time Sam and Castiel both are wearing earplugs and adaptable shades to protect their most vulnerable senses, and armed with rocksalt and iron, they manage to burn the remains. After the first ESP sweep of the building, they leave the routine sweeps to another team and go to check out their Guide’s office.

Neither Sam nor Castiel were in his presence for longer than a minute, but they pick up his scent regardless. Basil, leather, hay, _ours_ , the trail weaves through the building until they find his office.

“Dean.”

Sam traces the nameplate next to the door with his fingertips. Dean Smith. Inside, they find the room unobtrusively clean. The desk is empty. An imprint in the layer of dust too thin for ordinary eyes tells of a photo that was taken. Another almost-invisible imprint for the folder they found when their Guide- when Dean left. A drawer full of office supplies, formerly locked, left a hairs’ breadth open.

“He is running.”

Castiel frowns, takes a deep breath. Dean’s clean scent fills his senses, and the very idea that their Guide was here, right here, mere hours ago, makes Castiel’s entire body itch with need. Something moves in the hallway, and Sam’s breath stills, his hand reaches for Castiel’s forearm.

There’s a deer, golden-flecked, staring at them, frozen in the hallway for the splits of a second. Cas opens his mouth, and it leaps, and when they step out of Dean’s office, it is gone.

“Was that…”

The pure awe in Sam’s voice makes something in Castiel’s chest twist with longing as he nods.

* * *

 

“Hello, this is Doctor Pamela Mosely, who-”

“Pam. This is Dean Smith. I don’t got much time.”

“What? Dean? What’s wrong?”

“Listen, I need you to do me a favour. My records, you know which, I need you to get rid of them.”

“Why?”

“Take a guess.”

“Oh honey. Did you message your sister and your mom?”

“Wrote’em.”

“Want me to ring them up, tell them you’re alright?”

“Yeah. Look, Pam, I-”

“Cut it, pretty boy. You owe me one, but don’t think for one second I’m not on your side here.”

“Thanks. You’re really doing me a solid here, you know.”

“Take care of yourself, alright?”

“Yeah.”

 _Click._ Thank God for the Guides’ right activist group he joined in college. Thank God it was Pam who found out Dean’s true status and helped him fake one for the paper trails. Thank God for her and Ash, helping him obscure access to his private information by any legal means possible, and some definitely not quite legal means as well.

Flying is out, for more reasons than Dean’s little phobia problem. Stealing or renting cars is out, too, because it’s what’s expected. The train remains. Dean needs to get to L.A. as soon as possible. The bigger the city, the more difficulties for tracking Sentinels. It’s his only hope.

* * *

 

Dean Smith’s apartment is as unobtrusive, generic and clean as his office was. His kitchen is pristine, the only contents of the fridge are three apples, tofu, whole-grain bread, a can of soy milk and a can of carrot juice. His wardrobe consists of a variety of suits, little casual wear, pyjamas, boxers and socks. There are prints and one painting of mediocre ugliness on the wall and one neat bookshelf. None of the books has a cracked back.

“Three hours.” Sam says.

Cas nods, goes on to look through the nightstand. An unused notebook and a pen. An unopened package of tissues.

“This place reminds me of a furniture shop.” Cas mumbles.

Sam hums in agreement. If it weren’t for Dean’s scent owning everything here- but it’s too clean, too sterile. Guides have an instinctive need for order and cleanliness, to cater to Sentinel’s needs and to make proper homes, but this is a step too far. Why would someone develop a habit of living in constant, near-perfect impersonality?

“Sam.”

He follows Cas’ eyes. There’s the deer again, blinking at them from the bathroom one moment, gone the next. Sam follows it, comes into the clean room that smells faintly of soap, shampoo, the drier-scent of the towels- his eyes catch on one of the tiles next to the bathtub, and he kneels down. Dean’s scent is a bit stronger here, he was in this specific position before he left, he touched…

The tile loosens and reveals a small space. Sam leans in, closes his eyes. Smells.

“Cas.”

Cas is there immediately, and on Sam’s beckoning, scents the little stash. His eyes widen, and he looks at Sam.

“Impossible.”

“Not impossible.”

Just unlikely.

“Let’s see what Gabe and Luce got.”

* * *

 

Sam is more nervous and twitchy on their way back than before. Castiel knows why, feels the same. If Dean- but that is ludicrous. But it would be a better reason to run than mere intimidation in face of a bond with two Sentinels, like he assumed before.

“Ah, there you are. I hope for your sake that you found some useful hints, because we got nothing.”

Gabriel’s greeting is blunt. Both he and Lucifer are hovering in front of Gabriel’s computer. Lucifer straightens up as Sam and Castiel approach.

“We can tell you the basics about him. Dean Smith, twenty-seven years old, delta-level Guide, foster-child, adoptive mother and sister in Iowa. College on stipend in Stanford, bachelor in business and law.”

Castiel doesn’t need to look at Sam to know what they are both thinking. Whatever else Dean might be, he definitely is not delta-level. Sam and Castiel are both alpha-Sentinels, and for Dean to contain their spikes with only one touch each, he has to be at least- he has to be alpha. How does an alpha-level Guide manage to fool the mandatory physical?

Lucifer is watching both of them sharply. It’s not a very difficult connection to make.

“Did you find his medical records?” Castiel asks.

He keeps his tone perfectly calm, nothing to hint at the importance of the question, and he knows Sam is careful to match his own composure. Whatever the reasons for Dean’s fear, they owe him their loyalty and protection.

“Sealed tight. He even sued for privacy.”

Gabriel’s lips quirk with displeasure.

“What about the written records kept?”

Castiel frowns, and Sam links his little finger with Castiel’s. The intimate gesture serves to calm him and draw a smirk on Lucifer’s face.

“The Archive had a water-pipe burst, actually.”

Gabriel looks at them and Lucifer hums in contemplation.

“Now, that is terribly convenient for Mr. Smith.”

“What’s the Doctor’s name?” Sam asks.

“Doctor Pamela Barnes.”

“I know that name.” Sam bites his lip. “Look up Pamela Barnes at Stanford.”

Gabe’s fingers fly over the keys, and half a minute later, the Guide whistles impressed.

“Not bad, Samsquatch. One day you’re gonna have to tell me where you sold your soul for your memory for names.”

“What did you find?”

The barely hidden impatience in Castiel’s voice makes Gabriel roll his eyes, but he complies.

“Guides’ right activist, member of a group at Stanford during the time our Deano went there.”

“Can you pull up her phone records?”

“Can a hobbit eat his body weight in mushrooms?”

“I don’t believe so, primarily because they do not exist.”

“Figures of speech Cas. Give me five minutes.”

Three and a half minutes later, Gabriel chuckles.

“Got you now, little runaway.”

* * *

 

They get him at night. Dean wakes, sees the blue lights reflecting from the motel room curtains, barely has time to shove the bag with his suppressants into the closet before the door is kicked down and he’s tackled to the floor, his wrists cuffed and a collar placed around his neck.

“Guide Smith, you are arrested under the law of the Californian State on charges of evading your Sentinel’s authority, defiance of paragraphs four, seven and twenty-nine-”

Tentatively, Dean reaches out with his mind and immediately, pain shoots through his body from the collar, crippling electricity.

“Resisting arrest? Don’t make this harder on yourself, Guide.”

No shields, Dean can’t raise shields, he’s flooded with the aggression and disdain of the people standing over him, sneering. There’s something, almost like vicious bloodlust, created in the air between the men. Dean closes his eyes and shields his face with his arms, he can’t help it, and the resulting scorn makes him flinch. He doesn’t hear the end of the arresting officer’s rattling, only notices when someone kicks him, not very hard.

“Oy, watch it. Sentinels are coming for him.”

“So what, the freak can’t walk?”

Someone pulls him to stand roughly, and he stumbles after them. He has to wrestle down the urge to beg, because the cops’ disapproval and annoyance runs through him unfiltered. Dean is thrown into the back of a car, dragged back out of it and into a cell where he is finally, blessedly alone. He can still feel all the people behind the walls, but the mood is calming down, at least.

He curls up on the cell’s hard cot, focuses on his breathing. To close his eyes doesn’t really help, but he buries his head in his arms as good as he can. The collar doesn’t react when he doesn’t access his Guide abilities, and that means he has to endure the constantly grating emotional atmosphere of the police station.

Something nudges his head. Dean turns and leaps, and startles the raven into flight. The wolf, next to his head, whines softly. An apology. With an offended flutter, the raven lands again on the cot, and his beak picks Dean until he turns onto his back with a groan.

“Do I even wanna know what you are?”

He doesn’t need to ask that question, not really, but he’s not ready to face that particular fact. The raven hops onto his chest and sits down, and the wolf rests his heavy head on the cot, nuzzling Dean’s shoulder. Dean puts his arm over his face to block out his sight again, and if the touch of the weird-ass animals helps his growing headache, he ignores that, too.

Sometime later, footsteps approach, but Dean doesn’t move. Because he is too tired and none of the scumbag cops are worth his attention, for no other reason.

“Guide Smith.”

A sweet female voice cuts through the relative calm. It’s followed by a wave of the purest cruelty Dean has ever felt. He sits up, the raven hops onto his thigh, feathers ruffling sharply. The wolf turns and starts to growl lowly at the man and the woman who step into the cell. The woman who spoke is a Sentinel, red haired and beautiful. Her Guide is an older man, not half as handsome, badly matched to her perfection. His eyes are ice and festering wounds. The wolf growls louder.

“Answer when you’re addressed, Guide.”

The Sentinel’s words are accompanied by a sharp, short shock, and when Dean regains his composure, he sees the remote in the Sentinel’s hand. She smiles.

“Hello.”

“I am Sentinel Knight. I am here because your reaction to the collar doesn’t match your rating.”

No introduction for the Guide. She’s that kind of Sentinel.

“Yeah. No idea why that is.”

Dean’s emotions are an open book right now, but he has a lifetime of practice in control and manages just enough calm to stay believable. The Guide narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. Sentinel Knight turns to him and raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow before she turns back to Dean.

“Too bad I don’t believe you, pretty.”

Dean shrugs, leans back against the wall and tries very hard not to tremble under the hostility the bonded pair emits. The Guide is doing something to amplify it, it cuts like knives, but Dean is too proud to let them see any effect.

“Why is the FSI searching for you?”

Dean looks at her and weighs his options. They’re not FSI, obviously.

“I think that’s something you should ask my Sentinels.”

“The Sentinels you ran from?”

“That ain’t your business.”

The electroshock lasts longer this time. Pain shoots through his whole body, and when she stops, Dean’s neck keeps aching. Buzzing rings in his ear, mixes with the wolf’s snarl, and he thinks the raven’s claws are digging into his leg, but he can’t actually feel it, hunched over and heaving. Still upright though, at least.

“I am making it my business. The SGA wants to know why a registered delta has alpha readings, Guide Smith.”

“I don’t know.”

His voice is hoarse but firm, he makes a point to meet her eyes just long enough. Dean isn’t proud of it, but he’s more than a decent liar when he has to be. He has to be.

“Sadly for you, I still don’t believe you. You’re gonna tell me the truth, sweetheart.”

“Bite me.”

Wrong answer. The collar buzzes, and Dean cuts of the yell in his throat, grabs a hold of his knees. Then he feels it- the Guide, probing, stabbing, and his instinctive response is a push _back_. The Guide screams, and Sentinel Knight drops the remote control with a shriek. Doesn’t matter, the collar keeps on sending shockwaves of pain through him anyways, and Dean whimpers.

“You little maggot, you’re going to pay for this!”

The Guide speaks for the first time, his nasal voice hissing, but he doesn’t try to touch Dean’s mind again. He knows better, because by now all of Dean’s thoughts consist of _hurts pain stop hurts_. When Sentinel Knight regains her composure and the remote, the pain goes stronger, until Dean blacks out to the sound of a howl and a deafening caw.

He comes to in a car, slumped against the door of the backseat.

“Where’m I?”

“On your way to the SGA centre for further questioning.”

Sentinel Knight informs him from the driver’s seat. Her words have the same effect as a bucket of ice water, and Dean becomes acutely aware of the bad shape he’s in. His whole body hurts, and there’s still a low current of pain, now constantly humming from the collar. Sentinel and Guide ignore him. Dean dreads the physical examination that is sure to happen at the centre. There’s no way out of that now.

The car stops. Knight curses.

Suddenly, the window over Dean’s head breaks and then the door is torn open with a force that leaves the metal creaking, but Dean only notices that for the fracture of a second, because the next moment, someone heavy grabs him tight and pulls him out of the car.

“ _Mine._ ”

The deepest, scratchiest voice Dean has ever heard, and it’s all he really can concentrate on while around them, all hell breaks loose.

“What do you think you’re doing-”

“Sentinel Knight, we are to-”

“I will not accept this form of insubordination!”

“Guide Smith legally appertains to the FSI-”

“Hand over the fugitive or I will open fire!”

Fire? The man still holding Dean tenses. It’s his Sentinel, the blue-eyed, smaller one with the ruffled hair and stubble. He snarls a wordless challenge at Sentinel Knight, and then someone from nearby tackles both Dean and blue-eyes onto the ground, large, ridiculously long hair, his other Sentinel, there’s a gunshot, shouting, scuffle, and Dean can’t concentrate on any of it because they’re both so close, touching, warm, safe and-

The horn noise blares for a full ten seconds. Dean stares at Sentinel Knight’s Guide, who is standing, pointing the air horn straight at his Sentinels. At his Sentinels. The Guide is smiling widely, and Dean can feel the twisted fucker’s pleasure oozing from every pore, can’t move under that stare.

Turns out he doesn’t have to, because another Guide is here, short but apparently strong enough to sock Knight’s Guide straight in the jaw. Then he pockets the horn, turns and curses.

“Fuck. Goddammit, you asshole.”

Blue-eyes’ hold on Dean is so tight it hurts, and behind him, shaggy-hair is shaking like mad, desperately pressing his face against Dean’s shoulder. There’s skin contact between them, buzzing hot, he’s on the edge to zone out but not beyond, and it doesn’t take very much effort to tug the tall Sentinel’s mind back, level the auditory perception down again.

“Cas?”

Shaggy-hair’s voice is raw, sated with dread and fear.

“Shit shit shit.” Short Guide says.

He’s next to a blonde Sentinel who’s hunched over, breathing hard. In control, though. Unlike blue-eyes.

Careful, slow, Dean raises his shaking hand to cup blue-eyes’ stubble. The instant he touches skin, the horn noise is back, amplified with echoes and real noises. It’s a cacophonous ocean and blue-eyes doesn’t have a life west.

“Please. Dean, please, you have to help us.”

Us, they’re already bonded, of course, they already know his name. Of course.

“Yeah.”

Cas. Shaggy-hair called blue-eyes Cas, that’s a start. Dean takes a deep breath and dives.

_So you found me, huh?_

He lets his own mental voice into the whirlpool of sound that is his Sentinel’s brain.

_Cas, what kind of name is that anyways?_

Their minds touch slowly, thoughts mingling.

_Some kind of nickname, I bet. You know my name already, right?_

_Yes_.

The answer is weak and lost, but Dean picks it up like a thread.

_C’mon, man. You’re zoning pretty hard right now. Concentrate on me._

Dean leans back into the other Sentinel’s hold, focuses on the warmth the tall man emits, and his scent, and

_Sam_

_Yeah, that’s it. Come back to me. Come back to Sam, he’s so fucking worried about you._

_Dean_

_That’s me. Focus. Try to open your eyes for me, can you do that?_

He can. The Sentinel sucks in a sharp lungful of air and opens his eyes, and looks at Dean.

_Ours._

The fear returns to Dean like a punch in the gut, and he slams down any and all connections, only to have his shields torn open by electric pain immediately.

“Gabriel!”

Cas’ growl is on the dangerous side of savage, pupils dilatated so wide he looks two seconds shy of going feral. Dean is not the only one to notice that, because while Sentinel Knight steps forward, she proceeds with caution, casually pulling off the headset she’d been wearing.

“This Guide is a fugitive to be brought in for questioning.”

“He’s ours. The bond’s already formed.”

Sam speaks from behind Dean, his arms around him and Cas both. It should feel confining, but Dean is glad for everything in between him and Knight right now.

“But not enacted.”

She smirks, but the expression turns into a frown when the blonde Sentinel steps in between them.

“Surely I don’t need to remind you about the reprimands of interfering with a bonding? Sentinel Wesson and Novak’s priority was rated red just last month, Miss Knight.”

“Sentinel Knight.”

“Of course. While Guide Smith indeed left his domicile after the fledgling bond was formed, we have yet to find proof that he intended to evade the bond.”

“He resisted arrest.”

“You put a collar on him without inducement, Miss Knight. If I recall correctly, Director Mills gave explicit orders regarding the handling of Guide Smith.”

Knight hisses, blonde Sentinel remains a wall of ice, and the short Guide is suddenly crouching down in front of them. He reaches for Dean, Cas growls, and Sam subtly shifts his weight.

“Okay guys, come on. I’m not gonna harm Dean.”

The Guide meets Dean’s eyes and dangles a key ring.

“Bet you wanna get out of that fancy bling, right kiddo?”

“Please.”

Dean doesn’t remember screaming, but his throat feels like he did a whole lot of it very recently. The Guide moves slowly, careful to give the two Sentinels a clear view of what he’s doing. They must know him pretty well to even let him come near them like this, and near Dean. Keys chink, something clicks, and then the metal leaves Dean’s neck, and he would collapse if his Sentinels weren’t still holding him so tight, he only just has space to breathe.

Lips touch the skin bruised raw by the collar and Dean flinches. A soft, pathetic noise he can’t suppress escapes him, and Sam pulls back.

“Sorry. You- we need to get out of here, all of us.”

“C’mon, we’re three minutes from the centre. We called ahead, they have rooms for you.” Short Guide says.

The panic, latent before, resurfaces tenfold, and they notice, how could they not, heartbeat, sweat, scent, tells.

“You are ours. We will never harm you.”

Cas speaks the words into Dean’s ear, low, hot breath, and Dean doesn’t believe him and it doesn’t matter, because nobody is asking for what he wants. They move to stand in perfect sync. Dean scrambles between them, desperate at least to remain on his own two feet, and they pull him towards a black car immediately. He can’t run- never mind that he’s not in any condition, there’s four Sentinels here, two of them half-way to feral with claiming intent. They don’t let go of him, not for a second, and they make sure to keep him in the middle.

“Dean, calm down.” Sam says softly. “I know this is- I’m Sam. This is Cas. We won’t hurt you.”

_Yeah you will._

Dean frees one of his arms, massages the bridge of his nose to shield his eyes. He won’t cry, he won’t be fucking crying in front of a bunch of strangers with super senses to notice it immediately. Neither Sam nor Cas say any more, and Dean doesn’t look at them, but he doesn’t protest when Sam procures a large jacket and wraps him in it while short Guide drives them to the centre. The tall, modern building looms in eye-friendly light grey, surrounded by gentle greenery. As soon as they step inside, the Sentinel-friendly atmosphere becomes apparent. The building has almost no scent at all, just some inoffensive pink jasmine on the reception desk they’re waved past. The steps on the clean, dull white floor don’t resonate. The elevator doesn’t make a single noise.

A flustered young nurse leads them towards a wide, white door that reads **_Bonding 2_**.

“It’s the nicest suite.” She’s a Guide, Dean can feel it in her words. “The door will be sealed and food will be delivered via service lift for the next week. Good luck.”

Dean catches her eyes just before the door closes behind them, and has to restrain himself from showing her all of his rage and fear and desperation. She’s unbonded, one day she will have to do this, too.

The door hisses, very softly, and he’s alone with his Sentinels.

“You are scared of us.”

Cas’ words are low and calm, but his eyes pierce and Dean swallows. He turns and pulls out of both their grips and is surprised when they let him. He can’t help but look around the room they’re in. All the walls are the same muted eggshell, the furniture is designed simple and avoids all sharp corners and edges. The warm floor is white cork, last layer of a construction intended to isolate the suite from as much vibration as possible. The windows are tall, clean alabaster glass, very probably shock- and bulletproof. There’s no way out.

“Dean, look at us?”

Sam’s voice is too gentle, too familiar for the fact that they’ve known each other for less than an hour.

“I know this is all happening too fast, so, if you need a moment…”

He gestures towards one of the two open doors adjacent to this room.

“You like taking showers.”

Cas says it like he knows matter for fact. Dean gets flushed and pissed at the same time. He doesn’t need to be reminded that he didn’t have opportunity to shower since he ran almost two days ago. If he’s straining precious Sentinel senses, well, he didn’t ask for this.

“Take as much time as you need.” Sam says.

For a short moment, Dean contemplates just staying in the bathroom for the entire week, but like he suspected, the door doesn’t have a proper lock. In fact it’s so thin, it doesn’t even have proper soundproofing. Figures, this place was built to accommodate Sentinels after all, not unwilling Guides.

Dean showers for an hour straight until he even considers the bottle of completely scentless body wash. There’s a sealed variety of different cleaning supplies, from sponges over foot files to a freaking enema set, and Dean knows he’s supposed to use every single one of them. Bonding Education for delta levels was mandatory but brief. The basics are clear nonetheless, and Dean struggles with himself, defiance versus embarrassment. Embarrassment wins out, and Dean is careful to be as quiet as possible. The used supplies fit neatly into a discreet drawer on the counter next to the shower.

More than two hours have passed when he returns to the main room, wearing a soft natural cotton shirt and pants that are meant to be easy to take off. The suite is the most isolated, well thought-out set of rooms Dean has ever been in, all supplies high-end. Who are his Sentinels to warrant that sort of treatment on such short notice?

They’re waiting for him on the couch. Both of them changed into the same kind of clothes Dean is wearing. Sam is resting upright, legs crossed, head against the wall and his eyes half closed. Cas’ head is in his lap, carefully cradled by big hands, the rest of his body curled around Sam as if to avoid too much sensation by touch. They look tired, weighed down by something Dean doesn’t want to put his finger on. He doesn’t like it. Then he recognizes something on the floor next to Sam’s bare feet. It’s his bag, from the motel room. Sam looks up at him the same moment.

“Come here.”

The order comes from Cas, muffled but audible, and when Dean doesn’t obey, the shorter Sentinel sits up, hair tousled. He narrows his eyes at Dean, then glances at the bag in understanding. Dean can’t breathe, the air is concrete and their eyes steel.

“Dean, come here and sit down.”

Sam’s voice is firm, and Dean manages to move. This is it. He tries to hide the way he’s shaking, but they’re watching him too closely not to notice, their entire attention focussed solely on him.

“You’re a carrier.”

Cas says when Dean sits down on the chair across from them. Two steps, one lunge, it’s not very much distance between. Running would be futile. Dean feels like he’s gonna puke.

“Yeah.”

“How long have you known?” Sam asks.

Dean wants to lie, talk his way out of this, but that- he can’t. He _knows_ he can’t.

“Since I was a teenager.”

“How did you evade the physical?”

The answer gets stuck in his throat this time, and Dean shakes his head defiantly. If he talks, Pam and Ash will bear the brunt of the prosecution, and that’ll happen over Dean’s dead body. Sam frowns.

“Why did you do it?”

_Oh fuck off, asshole._

“Because.”

Dean shrugs and Cas leans forward, fixes him with a glare.

“Tell. Us.”

“Why?”

Dean can’t hold all of his anger anymore, but the question doesn’t faze the Sentinel.

“Sam and I have a right to know why you chose to evade us your entire life.”

“I didn’t even know you existed.”

Dean grits out the reply while he clenches his fists tightly against his legs.

“You knew the probability was high. You’re alpha-level and a carrier, your match would’ve been first priority.”

Sam’s tone of voice is one that one would use on a petulant child and Dean’s stomach churns again, this time with acid rage.

“Yeah right, cause getting matched and bonded to some patronizing douchebag is every boy’s dream. Couldn’t wait to get knocked up and pop out a dozen kids for the SGA.” Dean is on his feet before he knows it, yelling. “I didn’t chose this, and I don’t want it! And I’m sure as hell not gonna bend over and play little breeding bitch for two entitled assholes who-”

Sam moves almost too quick for Dean to see, grabs his hand, yanks him over and throws him onto the couch. The air is pressed out of Dean’s lungs and then Sam’s hand is covering his mouth.

“Listen closely, Dean.”

Sam’s breath brushes his ear, and his voice is dangerously low.

“We’re not gonna force you into anything, we won’t even push the bond on you, but I expect a minimum of consideration on your part.”

He takes his weight off Dean to let him breathe and meets Dean’s eyes sternly.

“That includes no raised voices.”

_Oh shit._

Dean’s eyes flicker to Cas, and he knows why Sam didn’t let him finish. Hunched over, hands clawing the couch, Cas breathes hard and quick, and the immediate guilt that shoots through Dean’s chest hits him unprepared. Sam takes his hand away and lets Dean sit up while his attention turns to Cas.

“Hey, you alright?”

“I have been better.”

Dry tone, Cas leans into Sam’s embrace without opening his eyes.

“Sorry.”

Dean’s voice almost breaks around the word.

“You have enough reasons to feel angered.”

Finally, Cas opens his eyes and looks at him, and all Dean really wants to do is reach out and ease all pain from his mind, and where did that come from?

“I don’t want kids.”

Dean whispers, a tainted admission come back to haunt him. Careful, knees still weak, he moves from the couch to kneel before them, intertwined as they are. He reaches out and takes Cas’ hand, doesn’t need more than that to take the _white-noise pain_ away. When Sam’s hand settles over his he flinches, but doesn’t pull out.

“We need you.”

Dean refuses to meet Sam’s eyes, or Cas’ for that matter, because he knows that’s the truth, can feel it clearly.

“I can’t…”

“Bonding does not require intercourse.”

Cas shares a long glance with Sam and then they move simultaneously, but slow enough this time for Dean to protest. He doesn’t. They pull him to sit between them and somehow still manage not to shift away any significant distance.

“Imprinting and the mental connection is all that’s required.”

Sam’s mumble is too intimate. Cas leans closer, closer, and for one insane moment Dean thinks he’s going to kiss him, but Cas only rests his cheek against Dean’s, stubble scratching his freshly shaved skin.

“We could do it one sense at a time.”

“I- are you sure tha- oh fuck this. We’re all alpha level, this can’t happen without sex.”

He doesn’t hate the idea as much as he wants to. It’s a basic fact of life for Sentinels and Guides that the stronger a bonding pair (or trio) is, the closer and more intimate the bond that forms becomes. While Hollywood likes to use that circumstance as a popular romance trope, in reality it is much more embarrassing to share detailed knowledge of each and every bodily function with another person. Two other persons.

“It’s not impossible.” Sam argues.

His chin is resting on Dean’s shoulder now, and when his arms tentatively sneak around to settle on Cas’ hips, Dean is once again confronted with the annoying and slightly terrifying realization that this does not feel wrong at all.

“You don’t really got much choice, huh?”

Dean tries to make sense of the twisting sensation in his chest. Cas draws back to meet his eyes.

“We looked so long for you.”

“Okay.”

Cas squints.

“Okay?”

“I’ll- I’m gonna try. Bonding with you.”

Cas’ eyes skirt down to Dean’s cheeks and neck, and that only serves to further his flush. For a moment, they flicker to Dean’s lips, or maybe he just imagines that because Sam’s lips brush over his jaw to settle on his neck, and he has to fight hard not to shiver when Sam’s words breathe over his burning skin.

“Sound, sight, taste and scent, touch. Is that order okay?”

Dean swallows and nods.

“Just- can we take breaks between?”

“Of course.”

Cas’ hands are fumbling with the edge of Dean’s shirt and tug it up, over his head. Dean’s heart leaps and he makes a pretty undignified, surprised noise even as his arms move to comply.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Sam’s hands brush down his sides. “Just need skin contact to hear prope- what is _that_?”

Dean twitches when fingertips caress the faint bruise over his ribs that is the result of his first arrest.

“S’nothing…”

Cas’ fingers close around his arm, not too tight but firm enough to move it away so they can inspect the injury.

“Someone kicked you.” Sam’s voice drops to chills. “About thirteen hours ago, while you were on the floor.”

“Uh…”

“Please accept our apology.”

Suddenly, Cas is all stern formality, safe for a glint of cool, calculated rage in his eyes.

“That wasn’t you, you didn’t… you got no reason.”

“We should have insisted on coming for you ourselves instead of allowing them to take you into custody.”

Cas’ tone indicates heavily that whoever ‘they’ are, they will regret every scratch Dean has once their one week is over. A wave of goosebumps crawls down his back and arms and Sam hums.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Dean’s throat is too dry.

“Come on.”

Sam shifts his weight and Dean and Cas both follow automatically, rearranging their positions curled around each other so Dean’s head rests on Cas’ side while Cas and Sam both lay their heads on Dean’s bare chest.

“It’s okay, Dean. You can stop freaking out now.”

Sam’s words are equal parts reassuring and mocking, and Dean snorts.

“Not exactly everyday situation here.”

“No.”

Cas agrees, and his hand cards through Dean’s hair gently. Dean’s breath hitches before he remembers he is supposed to slow it, and he forces himself to relax into the touch. It’s not as scary as he thought, just warm cuddling. Cuddling.

_Oh god._

“I know for a fact that Guides require physical as well as emotional closeness to be well. How did you survive?”

Cas’ question is honestly puzzled and so sincere that Dean can’t even get offended.

“Dunno. I just dealt with it, I guess.”

“You won’t have to anymore.”

Sam promises, and Dean takes care not to show the twinge of irritation.

_Won’t have a choice about it either._

As their breaths slow down, Dean’s emotions calm, and he manages to summon a feeling of peaceful acceptance. Sam and Cas’ heads feel right on his chest, their weight doesn’t cramp. They don’t move. It is strange to know that there are two people whose sole focus is Dean’s heartbeat, who feel that he is worth all of their attention at once. Strange, but not entirely bad. Gradually, Dean drifts off, two days of little sleep and much stress catching up.

He is woken from his nap by the noise of his own stomach. The light through the milk-white windows is tinted dim pink and for a dazzled moment he has the irrational urge to break them to see the sunset. Then Sam and Cas sit up without warning and Dean tenses to avoid rolling off the couch, but that precaution proves unnecessary when Cas’ arms encircle him and pull him to rest against his chest. After a long moment of consideration, Dean hesitantly relaxes, and the Sentinel makes a humming noise of approval.

“How long since you’ve eaten?”

Sam’s question is met by a confused blink as Dean tries to think back, but Sam just nods and gets up before he can answer.

“Too long. I’ll order us some food.”

He doesn’t ask what they’d like, but then again, who knows how large this place’s variety is anyways. Not very many food groups are neutral enough in taste to be considered absolutely Sentinel-friendly. He watches through half-lowered lids as Sam hovers over a touch screen in the corner of the room next to the service lift. Cas’ fingers thread through his hair and Dean thinks he should be stiffer under the touch than he is.

“You are tired.”

Cas’ gravel voice bears heavy concern.

“No shit Sherlock.” Dean mumbles. “Running from Sentinels ain’t exactly a holiday.”

“You were very smart about it.” Cas says. “If you hadn’t called Doctor Barnes, we would not have been able to locate you.”

Dean all but jumps up and out of Cas’ reach, coiled tight, eyes wide and heart racing before he even realizes that his reaction is a dead giveaway.

“You can’t do anything to her!”

“We won’t. Aside from the fact that we have no proof for any illegal involvement on her side,” Sam raises a pointed eyebrow at him, “there isn’t even a report to mention her in. The only written record about the last two days will be the complaint about the SGA’s handling of the situation.”

“We would not act against your loyal friends, Dean.” Cas adds.

Dean swallows, somewhat reassured. They want- no, they need him to like them, and if the issue comes up again, he can make it a condition of his continued cooperation. Behind Sam, the service lift’s latch soundlessly glides open and Sam takes a big tray of food out of it. There is no dining table, Dean suddenly notes, and he gets a queasy feeling in his stomach when Sam sets down the tray on a small coffee table next to the couch. There’s something else about bonding that was only briefly covered in the course, but it looks like Dean’s gonna have to face this head-on.

“I can eat on my own.”

“No.”

Sam’s blunt refusal stirs Dean’s irritation, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“That actually wasn’t a question for your approval.”

“It is a valid and meaningful part of the bonding process to feed the Guide.” Cas says. “We are already breaking protocol by not tying your hands.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean makes sure his voice stays even, but he levels none of the sharpness. “Nobody except for us will ever even know what happens in here and you can shove that attitude where the sun don’t shine, Cas, cause you’re. Not. Feeding me.”

“You’re right, nobody else will ever know what happens here.” Sam crooks his head. “You might as well give in.”

“No way in hell. Now give me a fucking plate, I’m starving!”

Sam reaches behind for the tray, but there’s a bite-sized piece of sandwich in his hand when he turns back to Dean.

“This is not negotiable, Dean.”

“What about the word ‘no’ doesn’t get into your fucking skull?”

Dean’s low growl is met by Sam’s narrowing eyes. Then suddenly, there’s warmth against his back, an arm around his torso and Cas’ chin on his shoulder.

“Dude, ever heard about personal space?”

The strain in Dean’s voice is more apparent. Cas’ warm breath hits his cheek.

“You agreed to try to bond with us, Dean. How are you going to do that if you cannot even trust us to care for you?”

“I haven’t even known you- I need more time than that. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Dean clenches his jaw, doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes. As if to emphasize the words, his stomach growls again and Sam frowns while Cas’ wayward hand finds a way under Dean’s crossed arms to caress his bare skin, soothing gently.

“How about a compromise. I’ll give you the food from the plate and you put it in your mouth yourself.”

Sam’s tone and expression write the exact level of discomfort that Dean feels as well, if for entirely opposite reasons.

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do we.” Cas gives back, vibrations of his voice tingling against Dean’s back. “That is the nature of compromise.”

His stomach contracts painfully around its emptiness and Dean realizes that this is the very reason that Sam and Cas gave in at all. It is natural instinct for Sentinels and Guides to fulfil each other’s needs and apparently his Sentinels don’t like Dean hungry. It’s a little fucked up, kind of like holding himself hostage, but if it gets him out of being handfed, Dean will happily exploit that weakness.

“Alright.”

He holds out his hand and Sam, with deliberate care, places the small square of sandwich in it. Dean puts it in his mouth with much less ceremony, but when he tries to chew and swallow, suddenly it’s all too dry. He forces the bite down and clears his throat.

“Uh, you mind not staring at me while you’re at it?”

“This is our duty.”

Cas’ reply is so solemn it is almost funny. Almost.

“Newsflash: I’m a grown up man, not a preschooler. Also, I’m pretty sure you’re both hungry, too.”

“Your needs come first. What kind of Sentinels do you think we are?”

Sam looks honestly offended, but Dean doesn’t back down.

“I was kinda hoping you’d be the kind who appreciates Guide emancipation.”

“We do.” Cas says.

“Very much.” Sam agrees, his back straightening and his expression uptight. “We know you can feed yourself, that’s not what this is about.”

“Then what?”

“Trust.”

Dean tenses.

“M’sorry. I need more time than that.”

His Sentinels are silent for a long moment, and Sam’s eyes move between Dean’s face and Cas’. Finally, he huffs, shoulders sagging. Without comment, he reaches for the plate and takes it in one hand, then gives squares of sandwich to both Cas and Dean’s outstretched hands before taking one for himself. It’s easier like that, even though they’re still watching him, but at least now they got some food to chew on their own. After what have to be at least six sandwiches cut in little pieces are distributed evenly among the three of them, they continue with apple slices and pieces of carrot that Dean grudgingly appreciates.

“We will order something more substantial tonight. Bonding is bound to tire us out.”

Sam explains. It’s the first time he’s said ‘us’ and included Dean in it, and Dean wonders why that feels so significant.

“If pie’s an option I won’t object.”

Sam’s eyebrows rise in surprise, but he nods. Cas nudges his cheek against Dean’s.

“I did not realize you have a sweet tooth. The contents of your fridge were rather healthy.”

“I’m gonna go ahead and ignore how creepy this sounds. And yeah, pie’s the exception.”

“Are you ready for the next sense?”

Sam asks as he turns and gets up to place the tray back in the lift.

“Sight, right?”

“Yes.” Cas confirms.

Dean blushes and wiggles out of Cas’ hold to take a deep breath. Sight means naked, and showing his body from all angles. He doesn’t think he would ever be ready for that voluntarily since he’s never possessed an ounce of exhibitionism in his life, but here and now, he has no other choice.

“Guess so.”

“Let’s move this to the bedroom.”

Sam’s suggestion is completely even but Dean’s heart leaps nonetheless and he curses himself because there’s no way they haven’t heard. They don’t comment anything though, and Dean is torn between relieved and apprehensive. The bedroom of the suite has windows similar to the living room, little floor and a ridiculously large bed. There is one large blanket covering it and three fluffy, sound-muffling pillows at the head. Extra pillows and smaller blankets are lined on a sideboard that takes all of the wall opposite the windows. All textiles consist of mute cream coloured silk, the kind that makes all other fabrics feel like sandpaper after one gets used to sleeping in it.

For a long moment, Dean waits for either Sam or Cas to take the initiative, but neither of them does. They’re standing next to each other, completely relaxed just watching and waiting. Watching. This is what it’s supposed to be about.

“Uh, you want me to take my pants off?”

_Jesus Christ shoot me now, this is too awkward for words._

“That would be advantageous.”

Cas’ face is perfected stoicism. There’s something in his eyes, hidden, but Dean can’t make it out without reaching out with his mind, and he can’t do that with them, not- not yet.

“Alright.”

Dean clears his throat. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of the pants that sit low on his hips already. His boxer briefs lie in a pile in one of the airtight, discreet laundry baskets, but right now he’d give everything to wear them, only to procrastinate his inevitable nudity for another few seconds. There’s no way around it, though. As business-like as possible he pushes down the fabric, steps out of it and for lack of anything better to do, folds the pants neatly and places them at the foot of the bed. He never meets Sam or Cas’ eyes.

“Look at us, Dean.”

Sam, quiet and confident. Dean forces his body to straighten up, his head to turn, his eyes to remain open.

“You are very beautiful.” Cas says.

Dean snorts. “Yeah, you can shove that. Just get it over with, I’m not into this whole flasher thing.”

“I doubt anyone would complain if you were, you know.” Sam replies, casual glance betrayed by wide-blown, dark eyes. “Cas is right. You’re gorgeous.”

“Thanks for the flowers. Need me to twirl as well?”

It’s meant as a quip, but Cas tilts his head.

“Lift your arms over your head.”

Dean stares at him. Not a joke. He elevates his arms, stretches his back and grabs his left elbow with his right hand.

“This okay?”

“Yes. Turn around. Slowly.” Sam orders.

Dean does as he’s told, and hopes the slow burning flush isn’t as visible on the back of his neck as it feels on his face.

“Relax. Nobody but us sees you like this.”

Sam reminds him and though it’s meant to be reassuring, it raises Dean’s hackles.

“Nobody ever will.”

“Good.”

Cas speaks the possessive approval from much closer than Dean expected, while Dean still wrestles with his irritation about his words’ easy misinterpretation. Cas steps around him and his eyes wander over Dean’s body unashamed and curious, like Dean is some interesting exhibition piece.

“Just how long is looking your fill gonna take, cause I feel like it’s a bit nippy in here.”

That’s a white lie, Dean is neither cold not hot. Chills and burns alternate right under his skin. Sam clicks his tongue.

“Lower your arms.” As an afterthought, he adds: “Please.”

“Anything for you, Sentinel.”

Sarcasm dripping heavy, he doesn’t expect Sam’s serious frown when he steps next to Cas.

“Please stop talking.”

“Right, you need to concentrate, sorry. Uh, sorry.”

Dean breaks off and bites his tongue. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Dean.”

Cas’ deep voice calls him back immediately and when his lids open, the Sentinel’s face is inches from his without touching. He jerks back but catches himself and keeps his eyes open this time.

“The colour of your irises is extraordinary. Almost as complex as Sam’s.”

Dean swallows. He has a good enough excuse not to answer, even if he knew what to say at all. Cas moves back a few very measured breaths later and Sam steps in his place. A small smile plays around his lips. He has dimples, Dean suddenly realizes. They’d look kinda cute if they weren’t on a six feet seven superhuman.

“Tilt your head back.”

It’s the most vulnerable Dean has ever felt, standing naked in a room with two strangers who do nothing but look at him, exposing his throat. His pulse is going so fast, he is pretty sure it must be visible as well as audible.

“Widen your stance.”

Cas instructs. Dean’s breath stops. He’s lost in Sam’s strangely coloured eyes, caught on that point between panic and excitement.

“Trust us.”

Sam’s whisper lifts the frozen spell. Dean shifts, spreads his legs as far as is comfortable while he stands, and swallows heavily. His hands twitch with the urge to hide his face in them.

Sam goes to his knees in front of him.

_Oh fuck._

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at you.” Cas replies from behind him. “Lower your head and lift your arms to shoulder height.”

“I don’t-”

“Hush. We are almost done.”

Since nobody currently insists on staring into his eyes, Dean closes them again and counts. He’s at 73 when two soft draughts of air on his skin tell him they’re moving again, and when he comes to 196, someone touches the side of his face. His arms start to strain when Sam speaks.

“Dean. We’re done with sight. Lie down on the bed.”

He looks up at Sam and his throat takes a moment to work the words.

“I thought we’re taking breaks.”

“You said you wanted to get this over with.” Sam points out.

“Are you very fatigued?” Cas asks.

“I just…”

“You’re scared.” Sam says.

It’s not a question, and Dean can’t deny it.

“Lie down, Dean.”

He could say no. He’s pretty sure he could, but what good would that do? He won’t be able to relax until this is over anyways. Lying on his back on the fluffy silken cloud, he tries very hard not to think about how heavy his cock rests between his thighs, or what he looks like right now. It’s pretty pathetic how much closing his eyes helps, despite the fact that he can still feel the Sentinels’ gazes on him.

The mattress dips beside him and someone cups his cheek, dry skin, gun calluses, smaller hand, Cas. It should freak him out that he can distinguish their hands without looking. It really should.

“Scent and taste.”

At Sam’s assertive mumble, Dean opens his eyes to look up. They’re hovering over him, not very close yet, but near enough.

“You really gonna… like, you gotta lick -everything?”

Dean doesn’t like the way he sounds, half afraid, half excited, very insecure.

“Not everything, no.” Sam shakes his head, gives him a smile. “Just try and trust us?”

“We will take care not to cause you discomfort of any kind.”

Cas promises. Dean gulps, nods.

“Yeah. Okay. Take it easy, alright?”

Neither of them replies, in fact they shift away from him, down the bed. Dean wants to say something else, but remembers the concentration issue, and then all his thoughts fly out of the window because Cas kisses his ankle and Dean almost leaps out of his skin.

“Shh, relax.”

Sam mouths the words as he mirrors Cas’ action and then, in perfect sync, they kiss their way up his legs and Dean becomes aware of a very apparent problem he’d chosen to ignore up until right now: Sam and Cas are both pretty damn attractive despite the situation, Dean has been on edge without chance for relief since before he ran thanks to good old Mr. Sandover, and he is in acute danger of getting the quickest hard-on of his life, triggered by little brushes of Sam’s nose against his skin and Cas’ kitten licks. His breath hitches when they approach his hips, but they pull back and switch sides before Dean’s heart explodes in anticipation.

_Oh hell no this ain’t happening. No sex._

Jaw clenched, Dean thinks of Mr Adler’s ugly mug, of people shooting puppies and the clump of muck and hairs he pulled out of the sink the first time he cleaned his apartment. It works, but only so much, because when they’re done licking and scenting Dean’s legs- this is his life now- they start with his torso, criss-crossing lines of maddening light tastes and breath. They left out his dick, and they leave out his nipples. Dean basks in the relief and ignores the disappointment. When they arrive at his collarbones and neck, they switch sides again, and pull Dean’s arms to spread like he’s some kind of doll. Dean squirms when Cas’ tongue outlines the muscle that borders his armpit- way too weird for his taste. Cas picks up on it, hums and moves down Dean’s arm. He never knew the crook of his arm was so sensitive, but the moment Sam’s lips settle on it and, just lightly, _suck_ , the jolt of it goes all the way up in his spine and then down into his dick with the faintest twitch.

Dean’s arms tense reflexively and Sam and Cas both move farther down. Wrists, palms, fingers, each fingertip, all receive kisses and just a tiny touch of tongue. It’s enough to drive a man insane.

“Turn around.”

Sam’s soft order is immediately followed by two pairs of helping hands, and Dean is glad to hide his slowly hardening cock against the silk sheet, bury his face into a pillow.

“You’re doing so well.”

The praise doesn’t soothe as much as it raises confusion. Is Dean doing anything at all?

Sam and Castiel swap positions once more, kiss up his arms, shoulders and down his back. Gradually, as his Sentinels stick to an established muster, Dean relaxes slightly. At least in this position, they can’t see his very physical reaction to what is supposed to be the forming of a non-sexual partnership.

That calm ends all of a sudden when both of them pull back, and Cas clears his throat.

“We need you to turn around again.”

Dean’s entire body tenses. He presses his face into the pillow and breathes evenly.

“I need a minute.”

“I don’t want to freak you out, but your boner is not that subtle.”

Sam’s voice is very close to Dean’s ear, and then his lips are on the base of Dean’s neck and Dean can’t help the wave of goosebumps down his back.

“I ain’t- I’m sorry, but you agreed we won’t…”

“No intercourse, yes.” Cas’ voice is firm but not impatient. “If I am informed correctly, that limitation leaves a variety of other options.”

Dean would snort, if his stomach didn’t feel like it was filled with helium right now.

“I don’t do that stuff.”

“Stuff?” Sam asks.

He sounds like he’s quirked one eyebrow, and Dean swallows curses because he’s not supposed to know that.

“Hook up with random strangers.”

The pillow consumes most of his answer, but never enough to escape Sentinel ears.

“We are neither-”

Cas’ lips are on his ear.

“-random-”

He noses down to Dean’s jaw.

“-nor strangers.”

A careful, soft lick is all it takes to make Dean shiver.

Sam’s hands touch him, warm and confident. He nudges Dean gently.

“Come on. Sooner or later you’ll have to learn to trust us. Take a leap of faith.”

“Wow. Couldn’t have found a way to say that girlier myself.”

“Hey.”

Sam caresses his neck, cups Dean’s jaw, and then Cas’ hands touch his hips and pull, and Dean shifts and turns around. When he opens his eyes, he realizes the light in the room has been dimmed, last bits of daylight fogged by the windows that mix with very muted, soft golden, indirect illumination. Sam’s face is inches from his, and the colour of his eyes is dark.

“Okay?”

Dean looks at Cas, whose smile is gentle.

“Yeah.”

Sam nods, leans down and kisses Dean’s cheek.

“Still okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Dean’s throat is much too dry. And then Cas leans in too, kisses his temple, and there’s something in his voice.

“And now?”

The ability to speak has briefly left Dean’s brain, but he dips his head, not a big motion but it doesn’t have to be in order to be perceived. The skin of his face tingles, in the best way, and it feels better than Dean thought possible just minutes ago. Cas’ nose nudges his chin, and Dean tilts back his head to oblige the wordless request. Purposeful, Cas finds the soft spot just above Dean’s throat, and Dean can’t help the noise, result of too much breath caught.

Sam moves to the corner of Dean’s mouth and for the fracture of a second, tastes the seam of Dean’s lips. Then he pulls back to meet Dean’s wide-blown eyes, and Cas, stuck on that hyper-sensitive stretch of skin, _sucks_ , and the next noise is caught by Sam’s open kiss. Their lips fit together too perfectly, white-hot. Dean melts. Mellow, curious, Sam’s tongue pushes to explore Dean’s, maps out Dean’s taste, teases the roof of his mouth, and that sensation is the most maddening tickle Dean has ever felt.

Only when Sam reluctantly breaks the kiss does Dean realize that his breath has gone flat. His head is dizzy and his heart beats too fast, and there’s the vague notion that he should be wary, but it doesn’t hold up against the sheer confusion about the intensity of this situation. Nobody warned him about that in bonding 101.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice is hoarser than before, draws Dean’s focus effectively. “You know we won’t hurt you, right?”

He swallows against Cas’ lips and nods.

“And there won’t be sex unless you want it, you know that, too?”

“Yeah.”

Dean forces the word out, and Cas hums in approval. He pulls back, meets Dean’s eyes, gravely serious.

“Then we need you to trust us now.”

It’s pretty obvious what’s coming next, Dean knows that, but he still barely manages to swallow the moan when Sam shifts down, to kneel between Dean’s legs, and never once stops looking at Dean’s face.

Dean wants to say something but his head is empty, all he can do is watch Sam lean down, down, moment stretching like torture, until his lips touch the base of Dean’s cock. He’s been hard for a while now, dreading and aching for any kind of touch, attention, contact, and now that it happens, Sam’s eyes are still firm on Dean’s face, and that somehow makes it better and so much worse at the same time. Like to test his reaction, Sam licks a short, wet stripe up his shaft, and Dean’s entire body shakes, rocked by a jerk of hips held down, whimper forced back into his lungs.

Cas kisses him, short and firm, and breathes words on Dean’s lips.

“Please try to relax. You don’t need to hold back any noises. You won’t break our concentration.”

“S’not what- _fuck-_ ”

Dean wants to explain that it’s not about concentration, but Sam uses the moment to wrap his lips around the head of Dean’s cock and Dean’s strangled curse is followed by a moan he’s helpless to suppress. Silk sheets may have many advantages, but they’re total crap for clawing into, too sleek, no friction, no grip. Sam gives head much the same way he kisses, patient and thoroughly disquisitive, and attentive enough to stop and pull away just as Dean is about to come.

The ache of narrowly avoided orgasm pulls in his balls, and Cas’ next kiss is sweet mercy, something else to feel. Not as patient, Cas presses down Dean’s tongue, claims his open mouth confident that he has every right to. Dean tilts his head and pushes back, and Cas growls very softly, more vibration than sound. Sam’s hands under the back of his knees interrupt Dean’s attention to the kiss and Cas demands it back immediately with a jerk of tongue over the exact same spot Sam enjoyed teasing so much before. Dean’s mind spins between Sam who pushes his legs up and apart, apprehension, Cas’ lips that move against his own, disturbing need, a seed of climax low in his belly, his whole body overstrung from too much stimulation and no release.

He whimpers pure embarrassment at the loss of Cas’ kiss, but the feeling turns to elated jitters as soon as he realizes what’s going to happen next, and Cas doesn’t disappoint as he moves down, doesn’t draw any wait, just meets Dean’s eyes and swallows him the same moment Sam sucks his balls into his mouth. Somehow, _fuck_ , somehow they manage to coordinate the exact same rhythm, unfazed by Dean’s hoarse cry, and Sam’s tongue soothes the tightening of his balls so light it’s agony, and Cas’ mouth is ruthless and tighter than it should be, and then Sam’s hands are under his ass, lift his hips effortlessly, and Sam lets go of his balls and licks Dean’s hole, and Dean comes. Hard.

The next thing he consciously perceives is his cock, still twitching half-soft, and Cas lapping up every last drop of his come, only to push his tongue into Sam’s mouth to share the taste the blink of an eye later. Dean’s whole body is lax, resting heavy on the bed, and he shivers while they take turns licking him clean.

“You’re the best thing I ever tasted.”

Sam informs him, a wry quirk on his lips.

“Yes.”

Cas agrees, apparently, and Dean’s brain is too slow to come up with an adequate answer to that brand of sincerity.

“Can we take that break now?”

“Yeah.”

Sam almost laughs, dimples again, and both his Sentinels sit up. Dean marvels at how in tune they are as they take off their shirts, and a part of him yearns for that easy, unspoken concordance. Also, and he knows he’s in deep trouble for even thinking this, if his Sentinels had undressed sooner he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have lasted that long. Because _hot damn_. Dean keeps in shape and takes care to eat healthy, but he comes from an office job while Cas and Sam work for the FSI and received special ops training, and it damn well shows. And Dean’s mouth is too dry again.

When he sits up and moves to the foot of the bed, all the self-consciousness about his naked state comes back. He proceeds to get up, intent on his pants that somehow landed on the floor not far from Sam and Cas’ shirts, but Sam’s arm catches around his middle and keeps him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothing. I just, thought I’d get something to drink.”

“I’ve got it.”

Cas is up and gone before Dean can even think about protesting, and he’s pulled flush against Sam’s chest.

“This ain’t necessary.”

“I know, you’re an independent Guide who don’t need no Sentinel.”

Sam says, amusement all too gentle in his voice. Dean turns and frowns at him.

“Dude, I don’t even know where to start. For one, yeah I am. For two that fucking phrase right there-”

Sam leans in and places a gentle kiss to his cheek, and successfully startles Dean into flushed silence.

“I know, sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. Caring for you is kind of non-negotiable with my instincts.”

“Yeah, but I’ll need more time than that to cope with…”

Dean breaks off, and swallows. He’s in this for the long run, slowly but steadily the fact catches up with him. He’s going to share the rest of his life with Sam and Cas, for better or worse.

“Please don’t worry too much.”

Cas is back, a bottle of water in his hand. There’s no label on the clear plastic, because it’s the kind of brand that doesn’t need one. Cas eyes Dean for a long moment, faint frown on his face, before he unscrews the bottle and hands it to him. Dean can’t help the small smile.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Cas sits down on the mattress next to them as Dean drinks his fill, and accepts the half-full bottle back to take a few sips himself. Sam empties it, and puts it down on the floor.

“So, uh, I don’t get to leave the bed for break, is that right?”

It’s actually almost cute how caught they both look, and Dean raises an eyebrow and gracefully doesn’t comment on it. Sam clears his throat.

“Um, Territorial instincts?”

“Don’t let the half-claimed Guide leave the nest.” Dean supplies, sardonic.

“Yes.”

The bluntness in Cas’ voice makes him more attractive than he has any right to be. His eyes are dark blue, and with the last bits of daylight vanished somewhere in the past hour, the low golden light plays softly on his skin. Sam is the same, arms and chest chiselled bronze, both of them more tanned than Dean will ever be.

“What’d you do if I wanted to use the bathroom?”

Dean has no clue what drives him to ask that particular question safe for how he kind of dreads the answer.

“Carry you there and wait outside.”

Cas’ reply is even, but there’s a twitch to his jaw that tells Dean that this is another compromise. He huffs.

“Wow, and here I thought I’d have to submit a written petition.”

Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean forcefully shifts his own attention away from Sam’s hand on his hips where his thumb moves absent-mindedly.

“We don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. For what it’s worth, you know that it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

“Yeah I’m actually not thinking about that.”

“There is nothing shameful in natural bodily functions, Dean.”

“You just keep up the dirty-talk, Cas.”

“Come on.”

There’s a chuckle in Sam’s voice as he moves back to the middle of the bed and pulls Dean with him, which is actually a small mercy because he doesn’t think he has it in himself to crawl gracefully right now. His back to Sam’s chest, Dean denies very hard any and all thoughts about little spoons. Cas joins them close enough for their foreheads and chests to touch, and this time around, Dean is fully expecting the content feeling of safety that results from his Sentinels’ touch without error. It’s basic instincts satisfied, and that is all there is to it, but he can’t help but relax into their not-as-sneaky-as-they-think arms.

“You mind if I take a nap?” He mumbles.

“Not at all.” Sam replies.

He moves one arm, tugs on the blanket they’re all lying on, and by some truly superhuman, combined effort, Cas and Sam manage to drag it free from under them to pull it for cover. Dean would be impressed with the coordination yet again, but he’s already plenty warm, and tired, and quickly losing all willingness to move, so he just grumbles against Cas’ neck. Fingers card through his hair, massage his scalp lightly. Dean is too relaxed to mind his own soft, pleasured moan, and Sam chuckles again, but that’s alright as well. The fingers don’t stop, but there’s no agenda to the touch other than to be soothing and pleasant, and it’s not very hard to drift off to the feeling.

When he wakes, it’s dark and quiet. The only sound is his own breath, and that of Sam and Cas, softer, all three of them sharing a rhythm.

“Slept well?”

Sam’s words are mumbled into the hair on the top of Dean’s head. He hums in response.

“Long was I out?”

“Approximately five hours and forty-two minutes.”

Cas is still warm against his chest, the rumble of his voice pleasant on Dean’s skin. Dean smiles unwittingly.

“That’s pretty accurate.”

“My sense of time usually is.”

Dean can’t make out any particular facial expressions for lack of light, but apparently Cas can, as he leans in and places a tender kiss on the quirked corner of Dean’s mouth. Dean takes in a sharp, measured breath and then leans into the touch. He is rewarded by a proper kiss, and parts his lips to deepen it. Sam moves behind him, bends to nibble on Dean’s earlobe, and Dean becomes acutely aware of his growing arousal, no, not his, _theirs_ , all three of them, shit, his walls are almost gone-

He pulls back and flinches under Cas’ startled confusion as he raises the barriers between their minds back up.

“Dean?”

Sam is concerned and too gentle as he pulls Dean to lay on his back so they can both look at him. Dean blinks in the near-darkness, close shadows of their faces not giving away any expressions.

“Why are you retreating?”

Cas’ question is neutral, but there’s a hurt undertone that cuts.

“I can’t.” Dean scrambles for words. “I’m not- I’m not ready.”

_I can’t let go._

“What are you so afraid of?” Sam asks. “You connected to both of us more than once. You know we won’t hurt you.”

Sam is absolutely confident. How is Dean supposed to explain him that it’s not them?

“Talk to us, Dean.”

Cas demands. Dean wants to, wants to tell so badly, but there’s too much hesitation that glues his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Cas makes a noise, not quite a growl, unhappy, and leans in to bury his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, as if closing the physical distance between them will help erase the mental one.

“I’m sorry.”

Sam’s lips brush over his cheekbone.

“We’ll get there. You ready for touch?”

“If you are.”

Dean’s not sure, but he can’t deny them this as well. It’s just physical, as long as he stays in control of his mind he’ll be safe, it worked before and it will now. Reluctance vibrates through every inch of movement as Cas pulls back.

“Do you trust us enough to let us move you?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good.”

Hands cup Dean’s face, warm, dry and firm, thumbs and fingertips tracing every line. He inhales sharply when the pad of Cas’ thumb soothes over his lips, manages not to squirm at the ticklish spot below his ears. Down his neck, over Dean’s moving Adam’s apple, Cas is intent to touch every strip of skin. Sam follows with his own hands, palms somehow softer, and his touch is almost unbearably tender.

“Don’t bite your tongue. We want to know where you enjoy it most.”

Sam’s words make Dean’s hips jerk, his cock twitch, and he has to force his breath even to calm down his pulse.

_Everywhere._

Dean thinks about saying the word, just give in to the impulse and let them hear all it means in his voice, but he doesn’t. Arms, shoulders, collarbones, suddenly his skin tingles with their attention. Cas teases Dean’s palm until his fingers can’t but twitch, and he catches the movements, traces them in the muscles of Dean’s arm with his other hand. Sam’s flat hands wander down Dean’s chest, brush over his hardened nipples. Dean jerks into the touch, already too sensitive.

“God, Dean, you’re so beautiful, you know that?”

Dean chooses not to answer, it wouldn’t be anything coherent anyways, and then Sam’s arms are around him and Cas’ hands on Dean’s hips, and they move him to lay on Sam’s chest, hips aligned, and fuck, Sam is still wearing pants but that does nothing to conceal the hot bulge against Dean’s filling cock. It’s Dean’s turn to hide his face in the warmth of Sam’s neck, clutching Sam’s shoulders because they’re the most solid thing available to hold on to as Cas’ hands wander down the plane of his back and then up his sides, without hurry. The touch on his ribs makes Dean squirm, rub his and Sam’s erections together, and Sam’s large caress from neck to tailbone is the only thing that keeps him in place.

“You’re so tense. Relax, Dean, it’s okay.”

Sam’s hand comes to rest on Dean’s ass, squeezes softly, and Dean chokes down a pathetic whimper.

“We’ve got you.”

Sam’s promise doesn’t soothe his shaking and then Cas’ hand moves to explore the cleft of Dean’s ass. When he touches the tight ring of muscles curiously, Dean yelps and their grip tightens to hold him still.

“You are wet for us.”

Cas voice vibrates through his skin straight into Dean’s bones, and it doesn’t take an empath to recognize the overwhelming lust in it. Cas’ finger nudges, slow but insistent until the muscle gives way, and then he pushes in, wiggling, determined to feel Dean out entirely. Dean’s hips jerk against the intrusion, don’t know whether he wants to escape the touch or pull it deeper, and then Sam makes a soothing noise and his finger joins Cas’, both their hands spreading Dean’s asscheeks wide. When Sam tests out the crook of his finger against Cas’ knuckles, he brushes against a place that makes Dean whimper, and of course their attention zeroes in on it immediately, gentle sweeps followed by curious probes until Dean is breathing hard.

“Fuck, there, you-”

“You okay with doing it this way?”

Sam’s voice is deep and hoarse, his control tight. Dean nods into his neck, eyes pressed closed. All he feels is their skin, their touch, all he hears is their breath over his own blood roaring in his ears.

“Please…”

They move, hands leave Dean empty, Sam’s hips lift and Cas’ warmth is gone for a too long moment as they take of their pants. Dean shivers because everything that isn’t skin on skin is freezing, and there’s the sound of fabric ripping that mixes with Cas’ low growl. An instant later, Cas is there again, a welcome weight on Dean’s back, and his fingers find their way inside of him effortlessly, like they belong there. Cas’ hard cock is pressed against the back of Dean’s thigh as their legs tangle while Sam angles his hips so he and Dean press hot against each other.

“How close are you?” Sam asks.

“Close, please, I need to-”

Dean breaks off, groans when Sam thrusts his hips and Cas moves his fingers in time, and Dean’s heart races, his entire body is thrumming with _empty_ , _more_. Just when his release is almost, almost tangible, Sam and Cas stop, slow down, and Dean can’t hide the sob of frustration.

“Fuck, Sam, Cas-”

“We wanna feel you, Dean.” Sam whispers in his ear, hips circling against Dean’s tantalizingly slow. “Show us what it feels like for you.”

Unfair, this is entirely unfair, they’re so close already, so much touching, Dean can _feel_ Cas’ voice when he speaks.

“The imprinting is done. All that is left is for you to form the connection, Dean.”

“I can’t-”

Cas moves his fingers inside him, jolt of pleasure that tears him on the edge again.

“Open up to us, Dean. Drop your shields. Let us in.”

“Let us in and you may come.”

Desperate need overwhelms anything else and Dean whimpers, shivers, lets go.

 _Ours._ He gasps under the sudden flood of _need want take claim,_ emotions and sensation all at once, all focussed on him. His pants, heartbeat, his blood running wild, the heady mixed scents of arousal, sweat, promised release, the twitches of his muscles and even the vibrations of Dean’s voice, Sam and Cas know, control and own all of it.

“Dean.”

Sam’s voice so rough, and now Dean feels him, greedy desire mixed with strange adoration, and underneath that a deep gratitude that Dean is finally found, claimed, _ours at last_ , and Cas is so much the same that Dean can’t sort their thoughts anymore, on edge and almost crying with the vicious emptiness inside him. Cas moves, because now they feel it too, their minds are one, their wants are the same now. Dean is naked, every last thought and impression laid bare, released, uncontrolled, raging, brutal _need_ that floods the connection.

“Fuck, Dean.” Sam curses. “We’ve got you, just-”

_Please, touch me, need you, everywhere, touch me!_

“Yes!”

Cas snarls the word into Dean’s shoulder, but he pulls back his fingers, _No!_ , they’re supposed to touch him everywhere, and Dean feels the connection overwhelmed, frenzied and without restraint, and then Cas’ cock is pushing against Dean’s hole and _in_ , fierce and impatient and so, so good. It hurts, stretched too wide, too quick, but it also feels tight and warm and _right_ to be inside, to move, and the motion of Cas’ hips presses Dean’s cock against Sam’s and that feels glorious, Sam holding both of them steady, and Dean feels all of it, all of it at once.

He cries out when Cas picks up a ruthless pace immediately, unable to sort who feels what, lost in a whirl of pleasurepain that becomes unbearable as soon as Cas’ control begins to slip.

 _“You feel so good…_ ”

Dean doesn’t know if Cas thinks or growls or shouts the words, only feels the familiar tingle, low, balls tighten, and then Cas comes inside of him, and his pleasure whips through the connection like lightening. All three of them cry out, and it pulls Dean almost, only almost over the edge himself, the sensation of Cas twitching from two perspectives delicious torment. But Cas pulls out and shifts to the side, and Dean can’t help but chase the contact. Sam goes along with it, turns him on the side. Dean spreads his legs on a thought’s notice, lets Sam press him half into the mattress and half into Cas as he enters Dean, slow and confident, with a roll of his hips at the perfect angle.

“Please, Sam, Cas, m’so close…”

Dean catches an image of himself from Sam’s eyes in the not-dark, head thrown back, eyes all but delirious with need, thoroughly debauched, _so fucking beautiful._ Sam acts on it, leans down to suck on Dean’s throat, a visible mark _because you’re ours now._

_Yours, yes, please!_

Cas hums, smiles for Dean to feel it, and he reaches for Dean’s leaking cock as Sam drives into him harder, merciless now. The angle is perfect, Cas’ touch more so, and Dean’s helpless pleasure is exposed to them completely.

_Ours!_

Dean comes, writhing and desperate, and they don’t allow him to black out, make him perceive his raw bliss in all possible ways. It’s the longest climax he’s ever had, stroked and drawn out and helped along by Cas and Sam’s own sensations. When it ebbs down, Dean is overwhelmed by his Sentinels’ primal satisfaction, channelled into Sam’s quickening rut. Molten boneless, Dean floats as Sam grips his hips hard and fucks into him with bruising strength, all sharp jerks and possessive elation. Cas pulls Dean’s limp knees further apart and Sam groans, doesn’t hold off his own orgasm. His hips stutter and he comes, rides out the feeling of pumping into Dean. His climax floods the connection with glutton enjoyment that makes Cas groan and Dean shudder.

Finally, Sam’s movements still, and their bodies find a shared rhythm of breath on their own. Sam stays inside Dean, and Cas curls around his back. Both of them claim as much skin as possible, and it’s just enough to satisfy the steadily jolts of demand in Dean’s chest.

_We’ve got you and we won’t let go._

Sam’s though soothes over it, and Cas emotions join the effort, nonverbal, plain protectiveness. It helps enough to let all three of them fall asleep once more.

 

The next time Dean wakes, Sam and Cas are fast asleep. He knows for sure because while it’s still dark, now he can feel their minds, their sleeping consciousnesses pulsing steady waves of impressions and facets of thoughts. Dean’s body is sore, his hole aching, and it takes all of his discipline not to panic and thereby wake Cas and Sam. Instead he takes a deep breath and manipulates their sleep deeper with a gentle touch to their minds. Carefully, he pulls out of the warm embrace, shifts to create as little noise and quick movement as possible. When he’s at the foot of the bed and loses touch to both of them, Sam mumbles something incomprehensible and Cas turns, suddenly restless. He steals himself out of the bedroom, grateful for the silent door.

The lights in the living room flicker to life as Dean crosses it. He goes straight to the bathroom, straight to the toilet, and spends a minute emptying his stomach into it. When he’s done, he cleans himself up, brushes his teeth and stares at his face in the mirror until the shaking is reduced to a mere tremble. There are several more fresh sets of cotton clothes in the cupboard, and Dean puts on one of them before he goes back into the living room, to the couch where his on-the-run bag sits in wait. His ass is sore, so he chooses to kneel next to it as he sorts through it until he finds what he needs. A sterile syringe and an emergency contraception shot, because oral contraceptives only have a seventy percent reliability with male carriers.

His hands don’t obey him entirely when he pulls it up. There’s a queasy numbness in the bones of his fingers. Something nudges his elbow.

When Dean turns, the raven flutters up onto his shoulder, but Dean doesn’t flinch. Then the wolf is in front of him, whines and leans in to nuzzle Dean’s cheek while the raven preens the back of Dean’s neck tenderly. He heaves a dry sob, fights to even his breath.

“Dean.”

Cas and Sam stand in the doorway of the bedroom, both of them wearing pants again, thank God, sadly, Dean doesn’t know. His shaking fingers curl around the syringe and Cas frowns while Sam’s expression goes soft with worry. The raven coos into his ear.

Before Dean can think of anything to say, Cas and Sam’s attention flickers to something else, in the corner of Dean’s eye. He looks, and the meets hazel-green-golden eyes of a slender deer. Its antlers are tall and elegant and its neck strong, and its demeanour is careful as it takes a hesitant step towards his Sentinels. Their Sentinels. Another step, and another, and the wolf yips for Dean’s attention, nudges under his free hand so Dean’s fingers come to rest between his ears. Dean curls them absent-mindedly and Sam sends him a quick smile, and then he crouches down and extends his hand to the deer.

“Come here.”

Cas does the same, kneels as the deer approaches them. Dean’s breath stops when it hovers just out of reach, before it takes the last step, lowers itself down to let the Sentinels pet the soft fur of its neck. A shiver runs down Dean’s spine the moment Sam and Cas touch it. His voice is wrecked when he finds words to speak.

“So, guess that means we’re soulmates now.”

They look up at him, Sam, Cas and the deer at the same time, and the two men stand up and cross the room, new confidence in their stride. Sam leans down to lift Dean up even as the wolf fades in his proximity, and Dean squirms, unused to being carried like a girl. Sam is unfazed, sure of his strength as he sits down on the couch, and Cas kneels down in front of them on the raven’s side to watch Dean. Cas’ fingers catch and turn the hand holding the syringe, and Dean’s throat tightens. He opens his mouth, but Sam’s lips on the side of his neck steal the words.

Cas leans down and reaches into Dean’s bag, one sure glance and he’s found what he wants. A disinfection wipe. Sam’s arm is under Dean’s, his long fingers firm and warm around Dean’s wrist as he offers it to Cas. With narrowed eyes, Cas scans it, ghosts his fingertips over the soft skin of the crook. He selects one place and wipes it meticulously, then takes the security cap from the syringe. Carefully, Cas presses the air out of it until one drop hangs off the needle’s tip. He shakes it down, catches it with a fingertip and licks it, eyes still narrow. A moment later, he nods to Sam, and Sam bites down on Dean’s neck hard.

Dean yelps, and only notices the faint pain from the needle a second after that. Cas is good, quick but steady as he pushes the liquid into Dean’s vein, and when Dean meets the Sentinel’s sharp blue eyes, there’s a softness there he didn’t notice before.

Empty, Cas pulls the syringe out and recaps it to put it back into Dean’s bag.

“We need to talk about this.” Sam says.

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Sorry for leaving the nest, I just…”

“You freaked out.”

It’s not a question. There is irritation in Sam’s voice, but it isn’t aimed at Dean. It bothers him nonetheless.

“Yeah, maybe, but you can stop this protective bullshit. We’ve been bonded for what, four hours? You ain’t gonna shield me from –everything.”

“We can try.”

Cas disagrees and cups Dean’s face. The motion and touch feel natural, and Dean leans into it, too tired to deny himself or Cas the comfort.

“Dean, we are sorry, too.”

Cas is gravely earnest.

“For what?”

“For insisting you establish the connection. If we had known how much pressure you were under, we would have waited.”

 _Pressure_ is a nice word for it, Dean supposes. Not quite as honest or humiliating as Dean would have chosen, but with a certain irony.

“You were… Dean, you know that amount of need is not normal, right?”

Sam is careful and tense, and Dean turns to him so he can see Dean roll his eyes.

“So what, I haven’t gotten laid in a while. Newsflash, empathy and casual sex don’t mix so well.”

Or at all. But Sam already knows that judging from his look.

“Casual sex is one thing.”

There’s the classic Sentinel possessiveness in his voice, pleased that there is no rival for Dean’s affection and attention. It’s not like that’s self-evident, because many Sentinels and Guides have relationships when they find their match to bond. The number of outside relationships that survive a bonding is smaller. It’s not easy to know that you’ll never be your partner’s only first priority again. But that isn’t Dean’s problem right now.

“Dean, we believe you are skin starved.”

Cas is brutally blunt with him, but Dean snorts.

“Skin-starved, really? And if I touch myself without my Sentinel’s permission I suppose I’ll turn blind and my hand will fall off.”

“Would you rather we call it _Neuroempathic Contact Deprivation Syndrome_? It’s real either way, Dean.” Sam is in stern lecture mode now. “There are well documented studies about Guides who suffer contact deprivation. It makes them prone to several psychological conditions as well as increasing risks of neuropathic disorders and cardiovascular disea-”

Sam breaks off and Dean bites his lip, looks down at his hands knotted in his lap.

“That’s why.” Sam realizes. “Your healthy food, your apartment- you live the way you do, because you _know_. Dean.”

Cas’ hand covers Dean’s. His voice is dangerously low.

“Dean. Answer us. Did you _choose_ to evade your match at the cost of your own suffering?”

Goosebumps run down his back, and he knows he’s on dangerous ground. They haven’t been really angry with him up until this point, didn’t have a reason to, but right now, simmering fury slowly fills the air between them.

“Let us in and answer us right now, Dean.”

Sam’s voice is hot against his ear, his grip sharp.

Dean gives. He leans back into Sam’s arms, meets Cas’ eyes and opens his mind to them.

“When I was a kid, I spent the first few years of my life in the system. Back than, they’d just discovered the blood test for Metahumans, and all state wards were tested. Not carrier specific, lucky for me, but they found out that I was a Guide and placed me in a SGA family so I’d get the proper upbringing.”

Cas’ eyes are narrow, but he lets Dean proceed.

“My foster mom, Ellen, she’s a Guide. Her husband Bill was a Sentinel with the Marines, didn’t make it back from his last tour.”

Dean winces in sympathy as the memory of the first time Mom explained it flits through his mind. Sam kisses Dean’s cheek and Dean pulls himself together.

“She runs a place for Metas, the Roadhouse, and making people feel at home is kind of her thing. Taught me all about being a Guide.” Dean swallows heavily. “When I was, like, twelve or thirteen, one of Bill’s old Marine buddies came to visit. Sentinel who lost his Guide.”

Dean’s dread at the memory is met by Sam’s sympathy and Cas’ wariness- Guides who lose their Sentinels get depressed. Sentinels who lose their Guides get feral. Dean clenches his jaw and nods at the unspoken suspicion, forces the words out.

“He held it together well, everyone was impressed with the guy. I still remember the way he stared at me.”

Sam tenses and stops himself from growling as Dean continues. “He came into my room at night and just kinda- he tried to bond with me, but something in his soul- he was broken, and he couldn’t. Ellen shot him.”

He tries his best to shield them from the brunt of the memory, but they don’t allow it. _Fear, Pain, Desperation_ , Dean recalls the Sentinel’s grimace in vivid detail, the weight of his body and the gunshot, the blood on his bed. Ellen’s terrible expression, little Jo’s wide, teary eyes.

“Dean.”

Cas straddles his lap, pushes him against Sam and crushes him in a tight hug while the connection overflows with protectiveness.

“I decided… I thought, if that’s what bonding does to you, then to hell with it.”

“Fuck, Dean.”

Sam’s voice almost breaks and Dean closes his eyes, allows himself to drift on the cloud of tender warmth. It exists now, the bond is irrevocable, and he might as well enjoy it.

_You’re not alone anymore. You won’t be again._

It’s a double promise and Dean relaxes.

_Might just take you up on that one._

They don’t let go of him for a long time, only revel in the closeness and the slow exchange of care. It’s not quite a nap, but when Sam finally moves and Dean blinks into the pale morning light that floats through the windows, he feels refreshed nonetheless.

“You’re hungry.” Sam informs him with a small smile.

_Huh. You’re right._

Dean frowns and tries to figure out how Sam noticed it before he did.

_You’re mentally exhausted and I know your body._

Sam shrugs as he gets up.

“We share your sensations.” Cas adds.

As Dean loses the physical connection to Sam, the mental one dims slightly, but when Dean concentrates, he’s back in Sam’s head, contemplating what to order for breakfast. Dean frowns. Even as Sam makes his way across the room, the connection doesn’t fade any more, although that is what it is supposed to do considering all he knows.

“We’re strong. You’re strong.” Sam shrugs with a crooked grin as his fingers fly over the touch screen.

“It’s supposed to grow with time.” Dean says. “Please don’t say I’ll never get a thought to myself again.”

“Maybe not this week, at least?”

Sam winces, while Cas leans in and scents Dean’s jaw. It’s no use to pretend that he doesn’t get goosebumps from that simple action alone, but Dean does it anyways. Cas has effectively shut down all counterarguments he could think of with one brief touch, of the tip of his nose no less.

_Great. You’re gonna be insufferable and smug for the rest of the day._

“Not if you distract us.”

Cas points out, dry amusement and lust in his wandering thoughts.

“Food first.”

Sam reminds them, and on cue the service lift door opens. The sweet scent reaches Dean’s own nose long after Sam and then Cas have caught it, but it makes him grin the moment he recognizes it in Sam’s mind.

“Apple Pie. Sam, I could kiss you.”

“You could, later. I’ll keep it in mind as an option.”

Sam smiles at him with his adorable, boyish dimples and Dean’s stomach leaps, not from hunger. He flushes immediately, because it’s really a little late to develop a crush at this point, but Cas chuckles in agreement.

_Sam is rather attractive when he smiles._

Flustered, Sam makes a fuss of putting down the tray on the couch table. Maybe telepathy has its upsides after all. Then Sam’s hand hesitates over the plate, and he looks at Dean. Dean swallows, glances at Cas and feels very much like a deer in the headlights.

“Uh…”

It’s Cas who moves, tentatively. He takes Dean’s hands in his, and when Dean can’t find a trace of reluctance in his soul, Cas takes the simple cotton tie Sam hands him and guides Dean’s arms behind his back- they’re currently made of jelly and wouldn’t be much use anyways. The knot Cas uses is simple, easy to undo by tugging on the end of the tie that he places in Dean’s palm, Dean sees it all through Cas’ eyes. When Cas moves back to admire his work, Dean swallows under the appreciative glance.

Softly, Sam clears his throat. He smiles at both of them while he lifts a fork of scrambled eggs to Dean’s lips. Like a good boy, Dean opens, chews and swallows, cheeks burning the whole time.

 _Look at you, trusting us._ Sam can’t hold back the thought. _So damn pretty._

If he hadn’t known what was coming, Dean would’ve probably choked on the next bite of eggs. Yet another point in favour of telepathy, because he can feel Sam’s scary sincerity. Dean has always known he isn’t hard on the eyes, but the way Cas and Sam perceive him is something else entirely.

“That reminds me. We’re going to have to count your freckles.” Sam says.

“What?”

“I can’t watch them without thinking about how many they are. We need to count them.”

“That sounds…”

Dean thinks for a moment.

_… excruciatingly boring._

“I am sure we will find a way to make it worth your while.”

Cas’ eyes go dark when he feels lust, it’s a thrilling observation that distracts Dean from the first fork of pie. Sweet apple filling explodes on his tongue, and Dean suddenly realizes that the bonding is done and they have six whole days left to spend in this place. He swallows as a slow smile spreads on Cas’ face.

_What do they expect us to do with all that time?_

“Touch you.”

Sam replies and drags one finger through the pie filling to push it into Dean’s mouth. Dean sucks it clean, watches his Sentinels under lowered lids.

_Touch me?_

“Until you forget what it felt like to want for it.”

Cas leans close, licks over Deans mouth to chase the sweetness, and Dean parts his lips. The cotton tie around his wrists is snug and secure.

_Sounds like a plan._

* * *

 

The Roadhouse is a classic, nondescript bar on the side of a Highway, a bit larger than usual, but wooden, dusty, full of cigarette smoke and the scent of beer. Two weeks ago, Sam would only have stepped inside it if Cas’ or his life had been on the line, the music too loud, smells too much. But now Dean is beside them, not currently touching him or Cas but ever-present nonetheless, and his mind lends Sam’s an infinite amount of effortless control.

“Now, don’t go waving your badges around and you should be fine.” Jo says.

The blonde Sentinel has her arm linked into Dean’s, the spring in her step pulling Dean along. From the moment she barged into Dean’s apartment with a loaded shotgun, Sam liked her, even though it took Dean about two days of constant reassurance to convince her that neither Cas nor Sam had forced him into anything. Protective and loyal seem to be family traits where Dean is concerned.

When they step into the bar, the music gets turned down, conversations stop and everyone stares at them. Well, not at all four of them, at Cas and Sam. Cas tenses beside him, Sentinel instincts wary of threats in these strange surroundings, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Everyone, Sam and Cas. They’re with me.”

It’s enough to relax the atmosphere, resume talk and turn the music back up. Many of the patrons are Guides, a few of them bonded Sentinels.

_This place is meant to repel unbonded Sentinels._

Cas points out. Dean sends them both a look as they approach the bar, but doesn’t reply. Once again, Sam gets the feeling that even after almost two weeks in a telepathic bond, their Guide still keeps some secrets. Considering Dean’s connections during his Stanford time and his strong opinion on the forced bondings and the bloodline laws that the SGA enforces, Sam as well as Castiel have their suspicions, but they already agreed to wait for Dean’s full trust. And maybe, bringing them here is more than a simple family visit.

“Long time, brother.”

The bartender greets Dean with a grin and a bear-hug. He’s a Guide, not quite as strong as Dean but with perceptive blue eyes that scan Cas and Sam sharply.

“Benny, Sam and Cas. Sam and Cas, Benny.”

“Hello.”

Cas says coolly.

“Nice to meet you.”

Sam tries for a bit more warmth, but Benny isn’t fooled. He grins, pulls out four bottles from under the bar, opens them against the edge of the countertop and places the beer on it.

“On the house.”

“Thanks, Papa Bear.”

Jo teases, Benny ruffles her hair and Dean huffs a smile.

_That could’ve gone worse._

_Really?_

Sam raises a sceptical eyebrow while he takes his drink.

_Really. Trust me. My family gets protective._

_We figured that out when your sister threatened to shoot us._

Cas’ dry reply makes Dean snort and draws the attention of both Benny and Jo. Benny looks amused while Jo rolls her eyes.

“Jesus, get a room you guys. I swear Benny, they were flirting the entire ride here.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

Dean grins like only a big brother can grin.

“Literally anyone would know that for sure after an hour in a car with the three of you. Unbearable.”

“Joanna Beth, are you insulting our guests?”

The firm, female voice is accompanied by the sensation of the most motherly touch to his mind that Sam has ever known. It’s just a faint brush for him, but it tangles with Dean’s mind and through him, fills the connection with warm kindness.

“I’m teasing my brother.”

Jo corrects her mother, who is standing in the door behind the bar, flour-stained kitchen-towel over her shoulder and hands on her hips.

“Hey Ellen.”

Dean greets the older woman and they meet halfway for a hug that has Dean happier than pecan pie, a remarkable feeling. She lets him go to take a closer look at Sam and Cas. Dean shifts, a little nervous for the first time.

“Ellen, meet Sam and Cas, my bonded Sentinels. Sam and Cas, my Mom.”

Sam straightens a little and he feels Cas, who has an uncharacteristically hard time to keep from fidgeting. Then Ellen smiles.

“Welcome to the Roadhouse, boys.”


End file.
